


A Dog Gone Day

by iknewaman



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alien Flora & Fauna, Anal Sex, First Time, Humor, M/M, Pollen, Possessive Jim, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-19 22:40:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8227175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iknewaman/pseuds/iknewaman
Summary: Once, just once, Jim would like to be sprayed, splashed, or strangled by something and it turns out to be Calvin Klein’s great-smelling ‘Golden Obsession’ cologne, because that shit’s expensive.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not nor will I ever own Star Trek.
> 
>  
> 
> Hey guys! :)
> 
> So I'm giving a hand at writing from Jim's POV, which is infinitely more emotional and full of expletives than Spock. I've thought about this for a while, and have decided to make it a chapter fic. I've already got the second chapter ready, and hopefully I'll finish fleshing out the last two chapter by the end of the month.
> 
> I'd also like to say a big thank you to all of you who commented and liked my first fic. It gave me tons of confidence and desire to write more, and you were all incredibly sweet and supportive with what you had to say. I can say with no hint of a lie that I'm immensely glad I joined this fandom :D
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy the read!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A HUGE shout out to ChikaMikk for beta reading my chapters :D Despite not being a Star Trek fan, she reads my stuff for me because she loves me dearly <3

“Fuck me sideways.”

Jim rubs at his face, trying to get it clean. 

Yeah, no, this was just great. Not even five minutes into a diplomatic mission down on a new planet and some goddamn alien plant sneezes right into his face. Just fantastic. God, he hopes it wasn’t flower spunk.

Sniffing, Jim removes his hands from his face and looks at them. They seem normal. No mould growing on them, no blisters, no weird purple spots dancing across his vision. This was fine.

He really hopes it’s fine.

Jim uses his sleeve to wipe his face one last time, then abandons it in favour of picking up his tricorder and scanning the flora again, this time from a distance. If he came down with some space disease, it was Bones’ job to fix it. It’s what he was being paid for.

*

Jim turns around, sniffing the air. Ensign Kurokawa is kneeling by a plant a few feet down from him, examining the purple soil. Some of it would need to be bagged and brought back to the Enterprise for examination, sure to give the botanists aboard a field day.

He sniffs in her direction, then rears back. No, he didn’t like that. There was a smell in the air, a very strong smell, and a very nice one at that, but he just couldn’t figure out what it was. Why was this so strong? 

Abandoning his current scan of a red bush with thistles, Jim turns to Kurokawa.

“What is that smell?” The ensign looks to Jim.

“Sorry, sir?”

“That smell, what is it?”

“I can’t smell anything, sir.”

That can’t be right. “You sure?” 

“I… what is it you’re smelling?” she asks.

“I don’t know…” Suddenly there was a gust of wind, and Jim is slapped right in the face with a scent. The scent. He turns his head and sniffs the air again.

Ah. Now he’s gotten it. Jim heads in the direction of the smell, slowly ambling forward. He can see ensign Kurokawa looking to Jim and the soil sample in her hand several times, probably struggling with an internal battle of whether she should finish her job inspecting the soil or follow her captain. He only feels a little bad when she gets to her feet and wanders after him.

Jim can’t explain it, but with every misstep he takes, he can smell how it’s wrong, and he steps right back again, knocking into Kurokawa. She must think this is _so weird_ but Jim can’t just give up on this search for the smell, he just can’t. He needs to find it, and he needs to know what it is.

It’s growing stronger, and the lure of the scent is making him increase his pace. He doesn’t know what he’s going to find, he just needs to get to it. 

After having wandered past several red bushes with thistles, and a large plant that looks to be curling its brown vines around a rock formation, Jim reaches what his nose has been looking for.

It’s a tree. It’s nothing but a tall, red tree. 

What the fuck.

“I don’t understand.” He murmurs. Ensign Kurokawa shoots him a look, probably thinking that’s her line after being dragged haphazardly around by her captain.

Jim takes a step forward and sniffs the air. He immediately recoils.

It smells _awful_. What the hell, why was he so adamant to find this tree that smells like garbage? What happened to the allure of the scent he caught whiff of on the wind? Jim shuts his eyes. His head hurts.

“Captain?” Poor Kurokawa, she’s probably confused as hell right now. Jim shakes his head.

“That. That’s the smell.” He says, nodding at the tree.

“I still can’t smell anything.”

Jim points at the tree and asks, “You really can’t smell that?”

“N-no?” The ensign says uncertainly, as if it’s some test, and not the reality which is Jim just needing some validation that someone else can smell the foul odour on the tree too and he’s not going crazy. “What does it smell like?” 

They’re both still stood staring at the tree, looking at it as two people do a painting in a museum. In both situations, Jim can’t understand what it is he’s looking at.

“Like… sea salt.”

“You can smell that?” She asks, incredulous.

“Yeah… apparently.” Jim frowns. This doesn’t make any sense. Is he actually going crazy? Is there some sort of illusion going on here? Have the natives wandered off from their meeting with Spock and Uhura and are now here playing pranks on him? It made _no sense_ , why could he smell the stench of tree but Kurokawa couldn’t? They were both Humans, there was no difference between them that he knew of, no illness, no accidents, no—

Suddenly it hit him.

Goddamn jizz-sneezing alien flower.

Jim sighs. He really is going to have to pay Bones a visit.

*

Considering the kid had said he and an ensign would be heading down to Juval just to scan some plants, it was fair to say that Bones is not happy when Jim walks into his Sickbay holding his nose. In fact, he does a double-take and mentally goes through the scenarios in which ‘Jim’ and ‘plant’ could lead to a visit to his Sickbay.

“Did you have an allergic reaction to anything?” he asks just as Jim takes his first step past the threshold.

“Uh, no.” Says Jim, his voice nasally.

“Then why are you here? You went on a peaceful mission to document plants, what could have possibly gone wrong.”

“Funny you should ask.” Jim dons a poor imitation of a smile, which almost immediately melts into a pained look. That catches Bones’ full attention. Jim opens his mouth as if to speak, then frowns.

“What?” Bones asks, also frowning.

“When was the last time you showered?”

Bones may come off as an old country doctor that moved slower than molasses, but he could be fast when he wanted to. Which is why Jim was wholly unprepared for the sudden hypo to the neck.

He yelps and slaps his neck, rubbing at it aggressively. What the fuck! That one hurt more than the others he’d received. What did Bones put in his hypos, cut up razor blades? Jim is convinced he always has a hypo on hand in case he felt like taking out his aggression on something, that something usually being Jim.

“Bones!”

“What kind of dumbass question was that? You actually had me thinking you were here for a legitimate medical issue.” He growls, looking for all purposes like he’s plotting Jim’s murder.

“I am here for a legitimate medical issue! Bones, listen, I was down on the planet scanning flowers with the tricorder, one of them sneezed in my face—” Jim ignores Bones’ snort, “and now for some reason I can smell really well. Like really, freakishly well. Ensign Kurokawa and I were scanning plants in the same area, and I smelt this strong scent, so I followed it, and when we found the source of it she still couldn’t smell it. Do you know what it smelt like, Bones?” 

The doctor shakes his head.

“Sea salt. I smelt sea salt, Bones. What human being can smell that from tens of meters away?” Bones looks contemplative. “I’m mostly sure this smell thing is because of the plant, but just in case I’d like you to examine me.”

“Of course I’m going to examine you, you think I’d just let you walk off with one of your baser senses damaged?”

Bones has Jim hop up onto the biobed, and remove his fingers from his nose. Jim is quite reluctant about that, actually, and Bones can see why. Immediately after Jim lets go of his nose, he inhales once and lets out a sharp yell, slapping both hands back over his nose.

“I can’t do it, Bones, I can’t! This place reeks of alcohol!”

Of course. The Sickbay was sterilized from top to bottom, every crook, corner, and item in the room rubbed down with disinfectant.

Bones grabs a hold of some basic medical supplies and drags Jim into his office, shutting the door behind them.

“Try again, the scents shouldn’t be as assaulting here.”

Carefully, Jim removes his hands from his nose. Bones sees his nostrils flare, and even though he does grimace, he doesn’t recoil, which the doctor counts as progress. He allows Jim a few minutes to simply sit and breath, get himself accustomed to the scents in the room. Once he seems to have relaxed Bones starts in on running a rudimentary exam. 

“You should’ve started with the serious stuff, not asking me whether I showered or not.” He grumbles, shining a tiny flashlight into Jim’s eye.

“I needed to know if I was going to let go of my nose. Your natural musk is usually quite strong, I had to be prepared.” 

“How strong is it now?”

“Very strong, though I think I’m still in shock from the smell in Sickbay. Jesus, Bones, do you douse it in alcohol, or what?”

Bones goes to fetch a specific tricorder that would help him accurately scan Jim’s nasal area, deliberately leaving the door open and returning to the delightful sight of an angry Jim holding his nose and glaring daggers.

Jim thinks Bones conducts his exam more harshly than necessary, but he wants to know what’s wrong with him so he keeps his criticisms to himself for now. He could share them another time when they were downing alcohol so Bones at least had the excuse of being drunk off his tits for not taking Jim’s criticisms to heart.

“So what’s the verdict?” Jim asks once Bones has finished up running the tests on him. The doctor ambles up to Jim, frowning down at his PADD.

“Well, it doesn’t seem life-threatening, but it’s something you’ll have to get used to. Your olfactory bulb, the area in your brain which is in charge of analysing the scents you smell and connecting them to memories, has been altered. It’s making you more susceptible to picking out scents which ordinarily the Human nose is incapable of deciphering. Scents that are the most perceptive, such as chilli or ammonia, will be intensified and cause irritability.”

Jim scrunches up his nose. That didn’t sound like fun.

“That doesn’t sound like fun.”

“That’s because it isn’t. Any aromatic substances you inhale now, even anything as soft-smelling as a rose, will be multiplied tenfold. I can only imagine what the disinfectant Sickbay is covered in must’ve done to you.”

It had done Jim’s head in, that’s what. It had smelt like someone had injected a double shot of pure vodka into each of his nostrils, and it was _horrible_. Even the memory made the hair on his arms rise.

“How do we fix it?”

“As of now there’s nothing I can give you to fix this. I’ll look and see if there’s anything I could mix together for you, though I have to warn you, it’s risky. Preferably it’d be best if we could talk to someone who knew what the plant that sprayed you was, perhaps give us some insight into what to do in order to reverse what’s happened to your olfactory bulb.”

“Spock and Uhura were in charge of meeting with the Juvallians.” Two of the smartest people Jim knew, except for sometimes himself when he had an especially large bout of insane genius. They had got to know how to fix this.

“They returned half an hour ago.”

“So let’s go back down there again.” Jim heads for the door.

“Not so fast, Jim. I’m assigning you bedrest to your quarters until we have some sort of information on what’s happened to you.” Bones doesn’t even look up, busy typing something on his PADD.

“But, Bones, I need to talk to the Juvallians so I can figure out how to solve this—“ Jim gestures to his nose. “—issue!”

“And your very professional, very diplomatic First Officer and Communications Officer can do that for you. There’s no telling if this is the extent of the changes you’re experiencing, Jim, it would be safer for you to remain onboard and let them handle it.”

Jim’s shoulders sag, his whole body slumping in defeat.

“Jesus, kid, if you feel that maudlin over not talking to the Juvallians, I can go down myself and talk to them about what’s happened to you, see what they have to say. After all, I am your doctor, and even though you give me plenty of reason not to bring you back to health, it is my job.”

“Thanks, Bones.” Jim says dryly, though there was a small smile at the corner of his mouth. His nose twitches. “What do I do about this increased sense of smell thing, then? It’s really gonna be a problem.”

“I would recommend staying in your quarters surrounded by familiar smells, they should be the easiest to handle. It shouldn’t take too long for us to beam down and talk to the Juvallians. I’ll let the bridge know I’ve put you on medical leave.”

Jim nods. “Put Sulu on the conn.”

“Will do. And find something that’ll get your mind off your nose, kid, you look like you’re about to pass out from worry.”

“I feel like it too.”

*

Once, just _once_ , Jim would like to be sprayed, splashed, or strangled by something and it turns out to be Calvin Klein’s great-smelling ‘Golden Obsession’ cologne, because that shit’s expensive.

He’s been holed up in his room for the past two hours, catching up on datawork and writing report, after report, after report. At least Starfleet would be glad to finally get in some of his tardy work.

He doesn’t want to admit it, but Bones made the right choice in exiling him to his room. The familiar scents surrounding him are easier to sparse and take in, allowing Jim to relax for the first time since he’d beamed back aboard the starship. He still thinks he should’ve gone with Spock and Uhura, he was the captain after all. Actually now that he thinks about it, he’d had no problem being down planet before when he first discovered the change in his sense of smell. In fact, it had been surprisingly easy to cope with the scents when compared to the Enterprise.

Jim’s comm suddenly beeps. He abandons his work to reach for it, and suddenly realises he’s hungry. Shit, how was that going to work? Would he still be able to eat food? What if the odour was too strong and made him want to vomit?

The comm beeps again and Jim picks it up.

“Kirk here.”

“Captain.”

“Hey, Spock.” Jim smiles, which was a big improvement from the days where the very mention of Spock had him gritting his teeth. They’d come a far way since their chaotic beginnings, somehow exchanging the passive-aggressive vocal fistfights for exceptional teamwork and a weekly chess game in one of their quarters. Yeah, so Spock had grown on him, and he’d endure Bones’ jabs about Spock being his work-husband because when Jim started bitching to Spock about Bones, he’d join in, and man was he one snarky son of a bitch. 

“I commed to inquire whether you would be willing to join myself and a small away team in beaming down to Juval. I recall you showing interest in personally partaking in more scientific missions.” Juval. Where breathing was easier than on the Enterprise. God, he even felt awful for thinking it preferable to his beloved ship.

“I need to check with Bones first.” Which sucks, because Jim’s twenty-eight years old, he doesn’t need a parental guardian to tell him whether he’s allowed to go play outside with his friends or not.

“Doctor McCoy is preoccupied conversing with the Juvallians, but ensured me that you had permission to beam down to the planet should you see fit.” 

If that was the case it meant Bones must’ve discovered something when talking to the Juvallians. Jim tries to quench his giddiness. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up only to have them shattered, but he can’t help his excitement. Maybe this was a problem that could be quickly solved, and Jim could just dust off his hands and move on with his life.

“Alright then, I’ll join your team, Spock. When will you be beaming down?”

“In forty-five minutes, Captain.”

“I’ll meet you in the transporter room then. Kirk out.” Jim hangs up and looks to the report he has open in front of him. Suddenly the urge to work disappears. Yeah, this report wouldn’t be getting typed up anytime soon.

He decides instead to read up on the mission debrief Spock had sent him. Looks like a simple double-checking of their tricorder readings, nothing more. Easy, Jim had performed the initial scans, this would be a walk in the park for him. He reads the debrief two more times just so he has something to do instead of thinking about his current problem.

Forty minutes later Jim is walking down the hallway, holding his breath as he does so. There really was no other way to do this without arousing suspicion from his crew. Yeah, alright, so he looks like one of those Earth birds that puffed up their chest when they were trying to impress a potential mate, but it was either look ridiculous or breathe and die a slow death in the hallway.

The only thing Jim could think of the entire way through the hallway and turbolift was how thankful he was for those swimming lessons he’d taken as a kid or he would’ve never learnt how to hold his breath for this long.

The doors to the transporter room slide open, and Jim steps inside. Spock is already there with his trusted tricorder ready, and, oh hey, ensign Kurokawa was there too.

“Captain, have you been debriefed on our mission?” asks Spock, in his usual mono-tone voice.

“I have indeed, Mr. Spock, just a quick double-checking of our previous tricorder readings on the flora below.” Answers Jim, with a nod at ensign Kurokawa who nods back with a bashful smile. He hopes they didn’t notice the weird pitch in his voice. And he definitely shouldn’t talk and hold his breathe at the same time, that combo was a bitch on his lungs.

Spock nods. “We are awaiting Ensign Lerfo. Once she has arrived, we may depart.”

Jim smiles at Spock, his non-verbal indication that he understood. His first officer seems content to remain silent, and a quick look at ensign Kurokawa reveals her to be staring into nowhere. Seems she isn’t up for any chatter either. 

That’s good. Jim was sure that if he had to talk any more his chest might just burst. Man, he really hopes ensign Lerfo wil show up soon.

Two minutes later ensign Lerfo is nowhere to be seen and Jim is positive that his tombstone would read ‘Death by Forgetting How to Breathe’. No, seriously, _fuck that flower_ , if it weren’t for it he wouldn’t be currently contemplating between letting himself breath or passing out.

Maybe he could keep it for just a few second longer. Just a few, until ensign Lerfo arrived.

Nope. He can’t do it. Can’t hold it in any longer. 

The air rushes out of Jim, his lungs singing with relief. Both Spock and ensign Kurokawa turn to him.

“What seems to be the matter, Captain?” asks Spock. Well shit, there was no way Jim could make this look natural. They’d all just been standing in a room doing nothing, there was no explanation as to why he was suddenly heaving in breaths as if he’d run a marathon.

“N-nothing, Spock. Just remembered… something.” Sure Spock would be confused over that answer, but he’d probably just chalk it up to Jim being illogical again, as he was prone to be. As for ensign Kurokawa, well, she’d just go away from this mission asking herself if she’d really made the right choice in accepting a position aboard the Enterprise.

“Captain, are you well?” Aw fuck, Spock was asking more questions? Couldn’t he see Jim was trying not to _die_ here?

“Sorry?”

“When Doctor McCoy joined us at our previous beam down to Juval, he stated he had placed you on medical leave. He would not reveal the reason as to why he did so.” Good work, Bones. The less people knew about this, the better.

“Yeah, it’s uh—“ Wow, his lungs burn. “Nothing serious. But he… he put me on medical leave just to be sure. I do overwork myself.” He tries to laugh, but his lungs yell at him for even trying.

“You do indeed.”

Something suddenly hits Jim. He’s been desperately taking in air into his lungs for the past few seconds. Why wasn’t he on the floor cradling his nose?

He gently sniffs the air. There were certainly scents in the air, strong scents, but none of them made him want to run out of the room.

 _Small victories_ , thought Jim.

Allowing himself to breathe easy, Jim tries to identify the smells. There seems to be a slight scent of something burnt, which made sense as they were in the transporter room. He looks sideways at Spock and ensign Kurokawa.

They had both seemingly returned to staring at nothing, Jim’s little episode from before either forgotten (most likely by Spock) or trying to be forgotten (most likely by ensign Kurokawa). Jim peers at her, sniffing again.

He isn’t entirely sure, but he thinks ensign Kurokawa doesn’t have much of an odour. He can't catch a whiff of the first scent that had made him shudder, so it had probably been one of the surrounding plants. There’s also something sweet in the air, something that really appeals to Jim’s senses, but he’s almost certain it isn’t her. Her scent seems to be unobtrusive, almost non-existent. Suddenly those are excellent grounds for a promotion, Jim decides.

The sweet smell lingers in the air, neither intensifying nor decreasing. Jim sways, and quietly takes a step towards Spock and Kurokawa. Yes, it was definitely in this direction. Could it be a perfume the ensign was wearing? Could it be Spock? Could it be something they had with them? Maybe one of them has smuggled something with them, something they’d be leaving down on the planet.

Jim takes a step closer. No, Spock would never do that. He was too much into regulations and rules to go against them. Was ensign Kurokawa the same? Jim wasn’t sure. Man, that scent was really something else, his sense of smell was going crazy for it. It was getting stronger too, why was that? He wonders briefly if something has happened to change it, maybe something in the room. 

This whole sense of smell issue was messing with his head, Jim did not need this kind of trouble in his life, but at least he was surrounded by the lovely scent. It seems to be growing stronger and stronger and, okay, now it must’ve reached its maximum because there was no change to it, but _holy shit_ that smelt good. Jim could drown in that scent, it felt so warm, like being wrapped in a duvet straight from the dryer, and _wow_ how weird was it that a scent had a _feeling_.

“Captain.” Jim’s head is swimming.

“Hm?”

“Please remove your nose from my neck.” Jim’s eyes snap open. Woah, when had that happened? 

Jim comes back to himself. His nose is pressed into the crook of Spock’s neck, and the, well, he could only be referred to as the victim here, is stood utterly still.

Jim carefully pulls his head back, and tries really, really hard not to make eye contact with his first officer. That’s kind of a mistake, because instead he makes eye contact with ensign Kurokawa who is staring at him with wide eyes and bewilderment clear across her face. Wow, Jim is so not successful in not coming across as a creep.

“Sorry. I, um. I thought I smelt something.” Jim turns away and stares intently at the wall, wilfully ignoring what has just happened.

Suddenly the doors slide open, and _of course_ this is the moment ensign Lefro would arrive. Ensign Oco’o trails after her, walking up behind the transporter controls as ensign Lefro joins Jim and the others. Jim wonders if she can feel the so, so awkward tension in the air.

Without a word Jim walks up the transporter pads, and the rest of them follow, taking up their positions. Jim waits for them all to get to their places before nodding at ensign Oco’o.

“Energise.”

*

He was right about the scents of Juval being less assaulting. The smells are manageable, although still strong, and Jim feels like he can breathe a little bit easier.

He’s also staying very, very far away from Spock.

The transporter incident is still flashing in his head, stuck like a crappy pop song and he can’t for the love of him get it out. His cheeks burn with mortification just from the memory alone.

What the hell happened up there?

Jim doesn’t know how to handle this; he’s already stressed out enough as it is about his sense of smell going haywire, he’s desperately trying to keep that little tidbit hidden from the Enterprise crew because they’ll either freak out or make fun of him, Jim’s not sure which one’s worse, and now he’s basically felt up Spock in public (one person saw, that counts as ‘in public’). He doesn’t know how to deal with all of this, so Jim Kirk does what Jim Kirk does best and buries it all deep, deep down. He’s not going to visit it, he’s not going to touch it, he’s not going to think about it. It’s in the past now and Jim never dwells on the past, he only has eyes for the future.

After unsuccessfully lying to himself, Jim decides he needs a game plan for taking care of the scent issue. He’d have to start off with baby steps, remind himself that any progress no matter the size is progress. 

Right. So the problem is that he can smell everything too strongly. When too many strong odours are present, it hurts his head and nose. What he needs to do is identify a smell, focus on it, learn to become accustomed to it, and then move on to the next one. Repeat. If he can keep at this, then maybe Jim can ease himself into accepting the more bad-smelling scents, which would be great, because then he wouldn’t hit the ground whenever something he didn’t like tickled his nose.

Closing his eyes, Jim takes a whiff. There are so many scents in the air, but thankfully they’re not overbearing. They’re soft and comfortable, like the smell of rain, or freshly cut grass. Jim picks out a scent he finds especially appealing. It’s actually very faint, but Jim’s nose seems to like it too much to give up on. He sniffs the air, and starts to slowly head in its direction.

Just like the first time, if Jim makes a misstep, his brain automatically informs him that he’s heading further away from the scent, and he corrects his mistake before heading in the right direction. With every step closer the smell gets stronger, and Jim thinks if he stopped and focussed really hard he could make out the nuances that make up the scent. It’s kind of sweet, similar to a lychee fruit, but it’s got some zest in it, something that shouldn’t work with the sweetness, but it does, and Jim kind of digs it. It’s real nice, not too overbearing, doesn’t clog up his brain, and…

…and it’s Spock. The scent is Spock. What the actual fuck? 

Jim sends a quick ‘thank you’ to whoever’s listening that he didn’t come to with his face pressed into some part of Spock again. Instead he’s stood a few feet away from him, simply observing his first officer scanning the purple soil.

Jim doesn’t know how long he’s stood there, but Spock doesn’t seem to notice his presence, too preoccupied with his job. That Vulcan’s obsession with flora was nothing to joke about. And yes, it was an obsession, no matter how much he tried to deny it. For fucks sake, Sulu had started up a ‘Photosynthesis Appreciation Club’ on the ship where he and Spock were the only members because no one else was that crazy about plants to join. Jim’s pretty sure Sulu even made headbands, but he doesn't know if Spock’s ever worn his.

Shit. How did this happen? Jim remembers the scent in the transporter room being different than the one he was following now, though now that he thought about it he wasn’t so sure. When he focussed on the scent he could pick out some traces he’d also caught a whiff of aboard the starship (and yes, he was wording it ‘caught a whiff of’ instead of ‘smelt when he pressed his nose into his Vulcan first officer’s neck’), but there was something sharper in it now, but a good one. It reminded Jim of basil, he’d always thought of it as being a ‘sharp’ smell. Wait. It’s changing again. What the fuck?

Jim watches Spock kneel down onto the ground and bring the scanner closer to the soil. He’s not doing anything out of ordinary, just scanning the dirt and checking the tricorders readings. Spock doing what Spock does best, Jim doesn’t understand why there’s a change in scent or why it’s growing stronger. Jim knows that an odour only intensifies when you sweat, and that’s only when you do rigorous exercises like going to the gym, or having sex, or feeling anxiety— wait. Hang on a minute.

Sometimes, when a person gets anxious or excited about something, they tend to perspire a little. When a person goes on a first date, they might sweat a little from nervousness. When someone has to make an appointment at the doctor’s they might sweat a bit from anxiousness. And when someone, who is very passionate about something, like new scientific journal articles or a newly discovered plant, they might perspire a little.

And oh. _Oh_. That is _hilarious_. Spock is breaking out into excitement sweat over fucking dirt. 

Jim can’t help it. He pinches the bridge of his nose and starts quietly laughing, a deep, low sound. His shoulders shake and Jim can feel his stomach tightening from trying to keep his laughter down.

“Captain, are you certain you are not ill?” It’s Spock. He’s back up on his feet again, looking at Jim. Now that Jim knows what the change of smell is, it kind of helps him apply emotions to Spock. He remembers Spock getting excited over dirt again and grins.

“I’m quite alright, Spock. Really.” He assures him. “I was just, uh…”

“Remembering something?” Spock finishes. Jim’s grin widens.

“That’s exactly it.” Jim walks up to Spock and claps him on the shoulder. He’s grinning like crazy, but he can’t help it. Every time he thinks of Spock and his scent changing, he just feels happy inside. “Do you mind if I join you in scanning the area?”

“Not at all, Captain.”

Spock kneels back down to the ground, this time scanning a small, brown sprout with white dots. He’s looking about as expressionless as a board, but Jim can smell the scent change in Spock, and it keeps Jim grinning all throughout his scanning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not nor will I ever own Star Trek.

Jim has actually been managing quite well with the whole smell issue. Once they’d finished re-scanning Juval, which with the help of four people took about thirty minutes, they’d beamed back aboard where Jim’s stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten in a while. Spock, with his freaky Vulcan hearing, heard it and asked if Jim would like to accompany him to the mess hall, and Jim was more than glad to have Spock, with his ridiculously good smell, join him.

He actually realises on the way that perhaps entering a room full of deliberately seasoned and scented food probably wasn’t the wisest decision. However, he justifies it by telling himself it will help him in his mission to acclimatise to the different scents he’ll be encountering on a daily basis. Besides, if the smells became too much, he could always stick close to Spock. Never let it be said Jim Kirk wasn’t a genius.

Luckily the mess hall is near empty when they enter, the room consisting of a few people sitting alone and two groups of people chatting. Jim recognises two of the people sat near the replicators to be Sulu and Uhura.

Jim and Spock replicate the meal of their choice (pasta carbonara for Jim, some boring Vulcan dish for Spock) and join their friends at the table.

It’s just as Jim takes the first bite of his food that a rush of flavours attack his senses. He yelps and drops his fork with a clatter.

All three other occupants of the table turn to him. Jim places both hands over his mouth and stares down at his pasta. What was this _betrayal?_

“You okay, Kirk?” Sulu asks.

Jim nods, hands still over his mouth. Sulu doesn’t look like he believes it. 

“You sure?” 

Jim keeps nodding.

“…Alright.”

“Sulu, he’s clearly lying.” Uhura complains.

“I know he’s lying, I’m just not going to get on his back about it.” He shrugs and returns to his rice-stuffed tomatoes.

“Captain, what is wrong?” Spock is looking at Jim with that tilting-his-head thing he sometimes does. It‘s strangely adorable.

“The food just… has a really strong flavour.” Jim explains, dropping his hands from his mouth. He’s starting to feel better now, though he can still feel the shock of the taste in the back of his throat.

Uhura gestures at his plate. “You’re eating pasta carbonara.”

“The cheese is spicy?” And wow, when did he get this bad at lying? Even to his ears that sounded ridiculous.

Uhura narrows her eyes at him. She drops her fork and crosses her arms. “Alright, Kirk, what’s going on?”

Abruptly Jim stands up. “Nothing! Jesus, would you look at the time, I need to be somewhere else.” He grabs his plate and narrowly legs it to the disposal bin, ignoring Sulu’s yell of _'What the hell, man?'_ as he exits the mess hall.

*

Aw, man, this is so not good. He has no idea what is happening, but he knows it isn’t good. Jim skids into Sickbay and is immediately accosted by the smell of disinfectant. _God damn it_ , he had forgotten how strong that scent was. Jim grimaces and scrunches up his nose, telling himself he has to learn to love the smell if he wants to get used to it.

It takes exactly three steps into Sickbay before Jim decides he could never love that horrible stench of disinfectant, and immediately grabs a hold of his nose.

Nurse Chapel is the only one in the room, wiping down a medical tray. Jim approaches, glaring at the bottle of disinfectant sat on the table behind her.

“Nurse, is Bones in?” he asks, choosing not to notice the way Chapel’s eyebrows rise when she sees him.

“Doctor McCoy arrived just a moment ago, Captain. He’s in his office.”

His office, thank fuck.

Jim burst into Bones’ office, almost giving the man a damn heart attack.

“Bones, you gotta help me!”

“I just got back, why are you whining already?” Bones groans, already reaching for a tricorder. Jim gestures wildly at his nose, as if to say ‘did you fucking forget I’m _broken?_ ’. Wordlessly, Bones pushes Jim down into his chair and runs the tricorder over him. He checks the readings, and after a moment nods.

“Yeah, this looks about right.”

“What do you mean this looks about right?” Jim stands up from the chair, and Bones immediately pushes him back down. “Bones—”

Just then there’s a knock on the door.

“Busy.” Grunts the doctor.

“Doctor McCoy, is the Captain with you?” It’s Spock. Bones looks to Jim, who is staring at the door looking for all the world like his worst nightmare is behind it. Bones knows he needs to uphold doctor-patient confidentiality, but there’s no way he can handle a Jim Kirk that’s this aggravated all on his own. The last time he had a look like that on his face was after he’d accidentally knocked over one of Spock’s Vulcan artefacts and had come crying to Bones about how he should ‘dispose of the body’.

Bones sighs. Jim Kirk never does things the easy way.

“You can come in, Spock.” He calls. Jim whips around, giving Bones such a look of betrayal the doctor would feel bad if he weren’t remembering every single time the kid had almost given him a damn coronary due to his idiocy. 

The door swings open and Spock steps in. He shuts the door behind him, and Bones catches Jim’s shoulders sag in relief. Yep, that smell thing looks to be as strong as ever.

Spock crosses his arms behind his back and nods at the two of them. “Doctor. Captain. I surmised I would find you here.”

Jim plasters on a fake smile. “What can I do for you, Spock?”

“Nyota and Lieutenant Sulu have elected me to determine whether your well-being is still intact.” And what an eloquent remix of ‘they made me come here’ that was.

“I’m just fine, Mr. Spo—” Bones cuts him off.

“He’s not fine, and don’t listen to a word he says. He’s not a certified doctor, and when the mood strikes him he’s a compulsive liar.”

Jim glares at Bones, which is just fine by the doctor. He has years of practice being glared at by an angry ex-wife, his captain’s looks are petty stuff compared to that. 

“May I inquire as to what is wrong?”

And Bones, who must’ve been feeling like being a grade A asshole today, turns to Jim with a raised brow and drawls, “Does your First Officer know about your little ‘situation’?”

No, fuck Bones, because he knows he can’t deny Spock anything when he’s actively trying to care. Jim knows how difficult that is for the Vulcan, and the fact that Spock often tries whenever Jim’s in trouble does odd things to his heart.

Jim sighs. Seriously, fuck Bones.

“No, he doesn’t.” Jim glares at the doctor and grits out, “Why don’t you tell him, dear Doctor.”

And Bones either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care about the acidity in Jim’s tone (he totally doesn’t care), because he just turns to Spock and starts right in on explaining what exactly has happened to their captain. It also turns out that Bones’ time spent down on Juval with the natives wasn’t completely useless, as he’s gathered some rather important information.

“I spoke with one of the Elders there, Eman, and they said that what Jim encountered was the Farkhon— Furkhon—“ Bones gets this pinched look on his face, the one he gets every time he tries to pronounce something in a language he can’t speak. “The Farhukh— the damn flower, I don’t know how to pronounce it— they said that in past centuries their people had used it for hunting purposes. The pollen the flower expels helps enhance a being’s basic senses, and this was very useful to the Juvallians. They would choose people who had the best stamina and physique, and they would then be ‘blessed’ by the flower, turning them into proficient hunters.”

“With the help of the plant the Juvallians were able to successfully hunt and provide for their clans.” Spock is staring at Bones intently, and damn it, Jim can smell Spock’s scent increasing. So the guy has the hots for the history of different cultures, he’s honestly not even surprised. Actually, Jim would probably be pretty riveted by what Bones was saying too, were the situation any different.

“Exactly. However, they left that practice behind almost two hundred years ago.”

“A logical development, as they have sought to become more modernised in the past decades.”

“They don’t wear pants, Spock.” Says Jim, tired.

“It is their form of modernisation.”

Jim turns to Bones with a look of utter anguish. “We gotta fix this, Bones.” Then he remembers something. “You said baser senses.”

“Sure did.”

“As in plural.” 

Bones grimaces, and Jim moans.

Sighing, the doctor continues his explanation. “The Elder said that the flower didn’t just enhance their basic senses. It would always bestow the attributes of certain local animals to whoever got sprayed with the pollen. If the first sense that heightened was your sense of hearing, then you would inherit attributes similar to that of an Earth bat, and if your sense of sight was the first to increase, you’d inherit the attributes of some feline creature they had, I don’t know what it was.”

“And if it was sense of smell…?” Jim leaves the question open, hoping Bones will just jump in with a ‘then everything’s fine, just a good night’s sleep and you’ll be right as rain and can go back to captaining, Captain.’ Instead, he rambles on.

“The Juvallians have this huge animal, almost as big as a bear, but looks more like an Earth wolf. There used to be a breed of dog on Earth in the olden days called a ‘Siberian Husky’, an animal with canine and wolf ancestry. It shares a lot of characteristics with the local animal on Juval, such as a high tolerance to cold weather, being able to change their metabolism, and howling like a bitch. Apparently it could be heard up to fifteen kilometres away.”

“In what manner do you mean that the Juvallian hound can change its metabolism, Doctor?” asks Spock.

“I mean that they could run for hours and hours, burning energy and yet somehow reserve their fat stores. I don’t know how, but they were able to.”

Jim has slowly been nodding along as Bones spoke, trying to wrap his head around what’s being said. It’s not that it’s difficult to understand, it’s just that Jim doesn’t want to believe that that’s all actually happening to him.

“How do we get rid of it?” He asks. 

There’s a brief stretch of silence. 

“Bones.” 

More silence. 

“Bones!”

“I don’t know yet. But—” Bones immediately claps his hand over Jim’s mouth to keep the kid’s scream of A Thousand Pains from erupting. “I will figure something out, so don’t go starting yourself a pity party.”

“I’m going to turn into a dog.” Wails Jim, pulling off the doctor’s hand and ignoring his poor attempts at help. He feels as if he’s seconds away from hyperventilating, followed by a bout of panic attacks. 

Man, this is so bad. If word gets out that Jim is essentially going through what can only be described as a werewolf transformation, the ridicule he’ll receive will be so much worse than anything else he’s even done before. 

It’ll be ten times worse than that time Scotty accidentally disintegrated all his trousers when messing around with the laundry machines, forcing Jim to make use of his set of regulation skirts for the first time since they shipped out. Actually, that incident wasn’t so bad, because Jim knew he had excellent legs and so rarely got to flaunt them.

Still, it’ll be a hundred time worse than that time when the whole crew found out about his hatred for tribbles, and then had somehow managed to plaster pictures and holos of the damn creatures all over Jim’s quarters. Sulu had even printed a picture of two tribbles onto a decorative pillow for Jim, and he’d looked so damn proud when handing it over. God, Jim hated tribbles.

Oh, and it’ll be _a thousand_ time worse than that time when after a night of competitive drinking with the crew Jim had tried to break into his own house because he forgot his keys, and the neighbour called the police because she thought Jim was a burglar. The cops had shown up and dragged a drunk Jim back to the station, ignoring his pleas about the house actually being his and he just forgot his keys. Bones had almost busted a lung from laughing so hard when he came by to pay for Jim’s bail.

That had been an interesting case for the Starfleet PR team to take care of.

Jim buries his head in his hands.

“Lighten up, Jim.” Bones says, “It could’ve been worse.”

“How the fuck could it have been worse than sharing traits with a goddamn dog?” Bones' face splits into a shit-eating grin.

“It could’ve been a tribble.”

Jim was going to fucking _cry_.

*

Jim walks out of Sickbay, briskly pacing down the corridor. He’d have to go get ready before they beam down in half an hour. Both Bones and Spock had tried their best to come up with a solution to how to best handle Jim’s issue, and in the end they had all decided that Jim beaming down to Juval and talking to the Elders himself was the best option.

_“Seeing as we can’t really understand the extent of change you’re going through, it’d be best for you to have a word with Juvallians yourself.” Says Bones._

_Spock turns to Jim. “It is paramount that we return you to good health, as we do not know how you would endure the consequences. I suggest beaming down at the earliest convenience possible.”_

_“He’s right, Jim. Your sense of smell and taste have already gone haywire, and we need to fix that last one if we want you to be able to eat anything.”_

_“May I suggest consuming Vulcan food, Captain. The taste is said to be bland to Humans.”_

_Bones grins. “What do you say, Jim? Fancy yourself some tasty Plomeek soup?”_

_“Plomeek soup does not deserve your derision, Doctor, it is an excellent source of nutrition.”_

_Jim huffs. “I’m going to miss lasagne.”_

Jim shakes his head. He really was going to miss lasagne.

*

Later when Uhura finds out, because Spock had decided that it was best to have her with them so nothing got lost in translation, she laughs for about five minutes straight.

“This isn’t a laughing matter, Lieutenant.” Jim grits out.

“Oh, I beg to differ.” She laughs wetly, wiping at a tear in the corner of her eye. “You know when I said you were a dog back in the academy, I didn’t realise it was this literal.”

Uhura breaks into a laughing fit again. Jim frowns, weirdly upset with Spock for just standing there, not even scolding her for unprofessional behaviour or telling a shit joke like that one.

“This is incredibly unprofessional behaviour, Uhura.”

Uhura stops laughing, and raises one eyebrow at him.

“Excuse you? Like you weren’t totally losing your shit that time Chekov ate a berry on Ferglo IV and his hair sprouted flowers.”

“Because it didn’t happen to me!”

Uhura shakes her head, her ponytail swishing. “Idiot.”

*

Juval is a planet vastly consisting of flora, their dark, contrasting shades very much at odds with the green and yellow of Earth that Jim’s used to. It’s approaching evening, and so the sky is a light rose colour which will only darken the lower the planet’s sun falls. Uhura had been told by one of the locals that just when the sun sets, a bright white glow lines across the horizon, making it look as if the world is split from the sky. But Jim doesn’t get to see any of that.

Instead, he, Uhura, Spock, and Bones beam down right outside the Elders establishment. It’s made out of dark wooden panels with silver lining the entrance, and the inside has hay strew all over the ground. 

There are two Juvallians inside when they arrive, fully naked and pink. Their eyes are pitch black and the ends of their short claws dusted with purple, most likely from digging in the soil. They’re tiny, little things who look so harmless, Jim isn’t surprised their ancestors used the help of pollen from a magic flower to help them become better hunters. The Juvallians clap their fists into the palm of their paws as is the proper greeting of their people. Jim and his crew return the greeting, and allow themselves to be seated by their hosts.

“What problem may be with you.” Asks one of the Juvallians, and Jim’s eyebrows rise.

Uhura leans over to him and whispers, “Their grammar structure is different from ours.”

“Thanks, I got that.”

“This is the patient who was bestowed the gift of your flower.” Bones gestures at Jim, who tries to sit up a straighter and look as if by all means he is a prestigious starship captain. It shouldn’t be that hard considering he is one, but Jim finds himself struggling. He’s so grateful that the planet’s natural scents aren’t annoying, but he can’t say the same thing about their hosts. They don’t smell bad by any sense, not even as strong as some people aboard the Enterprise, it’s just kind of sharp, like lemon juice.

“Salutations, patient.” They both say. Their eyes narrow, the Juvallian equivalent of a smile. “Apologies, our scents bother to you.”

“Just a little.” Says Jim with a nod. “I’m not used to smelling things this intensely.”

The Juvallians blink, turning to Uhura who says something in their language. Probably what Jim had said didn’t make any sense and she was translating the proper meaning. Conversation was indeed going to be difficult. At least he didn’t accidentally insult them, meaning she won’t have to do damage control.

“How long will I be like this?” asks Jim once she’s done.

“Your nose be strong for we not know. Your mouth be strong for we not know longer.”

Uhura translates before Jim can even ask her which reminds him why she’s so awesome. “They say they’re not entirely sure when your sense of smell will be returned, and less so regarding your sense of taste as it changed at a later time.”

“Has it ever been returned? When your ancestors became like this, were their senses ever restored?”

The Juvallians tilt their heads, and Jim can’t help but notice how much it reminds him of Spock. Uhura does her thing again, and this time the Juvallians’ eyes narrow.

“Different words. Different perspectives.”

That Jim actually understood. Huh. He’s kind of impressed with himself.

“But it does disappear?”

Apparently saying either ‘yes’ or ‘no’ is too complicated for the Juvallians to say in Standard, because they turn to Uhura and say something in their language. It’s actually a very pretty language, sounding like bells ringing in the wind.

Nodding, Uhura turns to Jim. “When sprayed by the pollen from the Farkhoundeh–” and it takes all Jim has not to turn and gauge Bones' reaction to that flawless pronunciation, “the user would be bestowed with attributes from one of their local animals for a certain time. Once that time ran out, they could either return to the flower and be sprayed again, or hand off the hunting business to another Juval.”

Oh thank fucking God, he’s not going to be stuck this way forever. Sure, he has no idea how long he’ll be like this, but neither do the Juvallians so he’s just going to pretend that this’ll all be over soon. Besides, seeing as the natives used the pollen as a means to help them with their hunting, maybe it only lasts for a few days, enough for one or two hunts. Jim has no idea where he’s getting these figures from, but they help calm him so he’s fine with his bullshit.

They spend another thirty minutes talking to the two Juvallians, who are revealed to be Elder Eman, the Juvallian who Bones has spoken with, and Ilan, the keeper of the Juvallians’ history. Ilan has a lot to say about their culture and ancestors, but a lot of it isn’t actually useful. None of it goes into detail about the flower that ‘gifted’ Jim, the ancestors apparently not deeming it necessary to maybe write this shit down for future generations.

Jim spends the rest of the meeting resolutely ignoring Spock’s scent which spikes and falls at odd intervals whenever Elder Ilan recounts a particularly interesting tale about their culture. He’s actually glad Spock is there, his scent somehow keeping Jim grounded and level-headed.

It also helps that Spock is quite pretty to look at. Jim’s not blind, he knows that despite the unfortunate bowl haircut and typical Vulcan eyebrows Spock still cuts a very striking figure. He’s tall and lean, all angular lines to his body, and the way he holds himself all straight and proper appeals to many. And sure, even though Jim thinks Spock’s hair looks like a hairstyle a mother cuts for their six year old child, he takes some perverse delight in imagining ruffling it up. He doesn’t know what Spock’s reaction would be like, but he thinks it might be just about as devoid of emotion as anything else the Vulcan does. 

Spock’s scent falls again as Ilan is droning on about something, Uhura murmuring the translation to them. He should probably pay attention. Probably.

Despite his rowdy personality, Jim’s actually quite good at diplomatic missions. He’s always been fond of exploring new worlds and discovery, but ever since his nose went bust and his taste buds decided to revolt, he’s been in quite the mood. Or, well, _moods_. He keeps shifting between unhappy and strangely optimistic, for some reason. Lately there’s been a restless energy creeping over him, niggling at the back of his mind. He doesn’t understand it, but then again he doesn’t understand a lot of the shit that’s been happening to him in the past eight hours.

Finally, finally, the meeting is over with, and Jim almost jumps with joy when they stand up to make their goodbyes. He feels like going for a run, a really long one, but Spock is heading for the exit with Uhura and Jim’s nose seems to be in control because he follows right after them. 

Jim doesn’t think he should be blamed for trailing after Spock, not when he smells so damn good. The thought makes him stop, Bones bumping into him. The doctor swears colourfully, but Jim is too busy thinking how he’s heading in the direction of creepy again when it comes to Spock. He’ll have to stay away from him when he can if he wants to avoid a sexual harassment report. 

*

The first thing Sulu says when he hears about his captain’s situation is, “Be grateful, Captain, the flower has chosen you as its recipient.” Jim would be kicking Sulu’s ass out into space if he wasn’t 99% sure Sulu was actually jealous of a flower picking Jim over him. The boner that dude had for goddamn creepy alien flora even rivalled that of Spock.

Jim was dreading his next shift. Spock, Uhura and Bones had all ganged up on him and held an intervention, saying he needed to 'take the first step and share his illness’ (fuck you, Bones) with the rest of his crew. No matter how embarrassingly mortifying Jim found it, it would explain his strange behaviour and maybe even the crew would have some good ideas on how to help. They were after all over four hundred of the brightest minds on the ship, there was bound to be some good ideas in the midst.

Surprisingly, when the news was announced over the intercom, there wasn’t much change in how his crew behaved towards him. Rand still intimidates him into signing his long overdue datawork on the bridge, Chekov still claims everything originated in Russia, and Spock still smells frustratingly _delicious_. 

Alright, remember how Jim had said he needed to stay very far away from Spock so that he didn’t assault him again? He’d changed his mind, he needed to be very, very close to Spock. 

Not because of any creepy reason, but because Spock’s scent was actually helping keep Jim’s head clear. He’d been barraged with an array of senses when he’d stepped onto the bridge, and damn it if he didn’t have the greatest crew in the world when everyone kept their distance and allowed him to recover from where he was crouched on the floor. Once he was in his chair, his mind flipped through all the scents in the room and grabbed hold of Spock’s, sinking his teeth into it like a wolf into a sheep. His first officer’s scent was calming; strong, but welcome.

Jim breathes a little easier with Spock around, and so he’s decided that from now on he needs to have every shift on the bridge with Spock if he wants to do his job properly. He is after all, still the captain, and in charge of an entire starship.

Except for when he’s having dinner with his friends, in which case he’s the laughing stock of the table.

“I think I need to see a dentist or something, my canine is absolutely killing me.” Says Sulu, rubbing his cheek.

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious.” Deadpans Kirk. Twenty-three dog puns in and he was contemplating firing his friends off to the icy coldness of Delta Vega.

Sulu frowns. “What’s so funny, Jim? I’m just saying my tooth hurts real bad, it’s driving be barking mad.”

Kirk drops his fork with a clatter. The entire table fucking snickers, Uhura hiding her smile behind her glass of milk. Jim would’ve fucking handed Sulu’s ass to him on a plate if he didn’t respect the hell out of the man and his badass fencing abilities. He fights with a fucking _katana_ of all things, even Jim knows not to mess with that shit. Thinking about it, there are a lot of times where Jim would’ve kicked Sulu’s ass but instead refrained. He was such a good friend.

Jim can see Uhura rearing up for another joke, but just then a sleep and coffee-deprived Scotty passes by with a mess of papers in his hands. 

“Alright, Captain? I heard yer a mutt now. We’ll be nearin’ in on Pandem IV’s moon soon, try not to go howlin’ at it, would ye?”

He leaves and the table erupts into laughter. Sulu and Uhura have genuine goddamn tears in their eyes, attracting the attention of the rest of the mess hall who look on curiously. At least Spock isn’t laughing, though Jim doesn’t know if that’s even biologically possible.

He sinks further down in his seat and picks at his food. He wasn’t laughing. They weren’t the ones who might possibly spend the rest of their lives licking their own balls.

The humiliation that image invokes has something die deep inside of Jim.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not nor will I ever own Star Trek.

So it’s been two weeks and Jim’s ‘situation’ still hasn’t been resolved.

There are still plenty of dog jokes being thrown about, which thankfully Jim has kind of grown accustomed to, and his sense of hearing and sight have also increased. That was a bitch to cope with. Not the sight thing, that was awesome, but the sense of hearing drove him up the fucking wall. It was especially grating when he was in bed and could hear all the little noises of the ship he wasn’t even aware existed. It had taken Jim a few sleepless shifts before he crashed in the mess hall and Bones yelled at him for ten minutes straight about not keeping his problems to himself before administering Jim a sleeping hypo to take every night.

It’s the only hypo Jim has willingly taken from Bones, and he really feels they passed an important milestone in their friendship.

Jim’s just waiting for his sense of touch to increase, the final step in this, his own personal hell. 

He’s already talked to Spock in case that were to happen. Since Vulcans’ fingers had higher sensitivity compared to Humans, Jim reckoned getting a few pointers from his first officer would help prepare him for when doomsday arrived. 

Man, Spock really was useful in this situation. Not because he smelt incredible, but because he’d actively been seeking to help Jim. He’d never seen Spock care this much before, and honestly, if there was one thing Jim liked about all of this it was the attention he was receiving from his first officer. He was sure Nurse Chapel was murderous with jealousy.

Dealing with the changes in his baser senses had been… difficult, to put it simply.

He’s slowly been able to adapt to most of the scents on the ship, though not all of them. Those crewmembers outside of his immediate circle still bothered his nose. But that was nothing compared to Engineering; the smell of oil, strong gas, and sharp heat of burners was one hell of a ride for Jim. No, he avoided the Engineering department at all costs, though it did mean he didn’t get to see Scotty as often as he’d like to. It was a shame. Jim missed the crazy bastard and his talking a mile a minute rants on the latest developments in warp speed.

Actually Jim misses quite a lot on the ship. He only ever spends time in his own room nowadays. When he doesn’t have enough energy to deal with all the smells, sounds, tastes, and more of all the things surrounding him, he retreats into his own personal zone. It’s the only place he knows (except for Bones’ office, but then he’d have to brave the disinfectant war zone which is Sickbay) where he can block out most of the distractions that affect his heightened senses.

One time Jim had tried going to the gym, thinking a good workout session would help relieve him of all the stress this pollen shit brought with it. He’d taken one step into the room, inhaled the scent of sweat from over twenty different beings, and raced right out again. It had been awful, and Jim had punched his locker in frustration. 

He’d taken to seeking out Spock whenever the sensory overload got too much, and Spock, the stand-up guy that he was, only asked once why Jim kept coming to him. Jim made up some half-assed excuse and Spock simply nodded and returned to his work. At this point Jim’s not sure if Spock’s buying anything he says or not, but as long as it allows him to spend time around his first officer and his very appealing scent, Jim’s not saying anything.

When his sense of hearing heightened, that was honestly a hard time for Jim. After he’d passed out and Bones gave him his sleeping hypo, his friend had come back the next day and handed Jim a set of ear plugs. 

“I don’t know how much they’ll help, but it’s better than nothing.” He’d said, and Jim had to agree.

Though he could still hear very many noises, it was more muffled, and the more unobtrusive ones, such as a tap dripping, were blocked out. It still wasn’t enough to help Jim fall asleep, that was what the hypo was for, but it helped relax him immensely. And even though it took some time getting used to the odd change in voices when putting in the ear plugs, he managed. After the first week he began taking them out at different intervals during the day, much like when he practiced acclimatising to the scents on the ship, and tried to force himself to just _deal_ with the noise.

It was a hard battle, but Jim was a stubborn son of a bitch. And if worst came to worst, he always had his room, his solace; he’d retreat into it and just breathe and collect himself. Sometimes Spock would come knocking and Jim would let him in, because for some reason in Jim’s head Spock never took up any space. If anything he created more, and with the situation Jim was in, he welcomed it. Spock would enter his quarters, and hand Jim PADDs full of datawork to complete, often choosing to sit with Jim and finish his own work. Spock’s no dummy, he most likely knew that somehow his presence was helping Jim, and even though Jim greatly enjoyed the deep tone of his first officer, he was really coming to realise that silence was golden to him in these trying times.

He’d been trying to cope with his sense of smell and hearing simultaneously when his sense of sight sharpened, and honestly, that was no big deal for Jim. He imagined it was similar to suddenly putting on glasses and seeing the world clearly for what it was. Everything was sharper, in high definition, and the only thing Jim had to get used to was the small headaches he’d get when trying to absorb in every new detail he now saw because of the change in sight. Compared to his other alterations, this was a damn walk in the park.

However, Jim’s temporary disabilities didn’t protect him from being ridiculed. Oh no, there was plenty of those, along with a whole other load of crap.

Jim still ate regularly in the mess hall, one of his exercises in getting accustomed to different smells. His crew would still eat with him whenever they could, and that was just a party of ‘let’s see how many dog puns we can make before Jimmy here launches himself into outer space’.

“What’s up, dog?” asks Sulu, setting his tray down. The rest of the table giggle. Do they never tire of these goddamn jokes? Jim resolutely ignores the question and reminds himself that he actually likes Sulu when he’s not busy plotting his murder. 

Sulu nudges his arm, and Jim has to remember that the man has a husband and child that would miss him dearly (maybe) if he were to die. “Hey, come on, man. What’s gotten your tail in a twist?” 

"Maybe if you dickheads would stop making dog jokes at every available opportunity I wouldn’t want to tear your heads off.” He grits out, keeping his gaze on his plate. “Seriously, it’s getting old.” 

Uhura simply looks at him coolly, and takes a swig of her water. “What a biting remark.” 

“I reckon Captain’s bark is worse than his bite.” Chekov smiles, and damn it, when does the kid ever not look like Christmas has come early? 

Jim grits his teeth at the exchange blatantly taking place before him, but he’s hard pressed to be angry with Chekov. He’s actually quite proud that the little guy managed to insult him in a language that isn’t his first. These daily meals were truly an exercise for him. Not only because he had to get used to living with his heightened senses, but he also had to cope with the overwhelming urge to throttle his crew. 

That was last week. Jim’s glad to say he’s improved significantly since then.

Sure, the crew aren’t as fond of ribbing him now that he doesn’t react in a negative manner, but they’re still happy to share jokes with him. There weren’t as many pranks as Jim expected, which suited him just fine, but the ones that did occur made him contemplate if his crew were quite creative or just idiots.

Take Sulu for example; after Jim’s first try at visiting the gym, he’d ripped his locker open in anger and found that Sulu had somehow left a note along with a book on Pavlov’s dog in his locker. Jim’s still wondering how he'd managed that in the three minutes he’d been there.

One time Jim was walking back to his quarters after a shift, when Chekov came calling after him. Jim turned around only to have the guy shove a small stuffed dog into his arms, telling him that it could ‘become very nice pair with tribble pillow’. Jim is like 99.9% sure Chekov and Sulu were secretly challenging each other with pranks.

Scotty (and he’s pretty sure it was Scotty, because _who else could it be_ ) had programmed the doors so that whenever Jim walked through them onto the bridge, the old Earth tune ‘Who Let The Dogs Out’ would play. Jim had actually laughed at that one, along with literally everyone else on the bridge. He had to admit privately that it was pretty awesome having your own theme song whenever you entered the room.

Uhura claims she has nothing to do with these childish pranks, but Jim’s seen her play poker and knows what she’s capable of, both in the art of bluffing and savagery.

Jim would just have to accept that his crew were made up of five-year olds trapped in adult bodies, and take them as they came. They were still damn good at their jobs, and together they made for the best ship in Starfleet.

Luckily for the past two weeks they’d just been starmapping, but now they’d been assigned a mission to escort the Prime Minister of C’enov to Starbase 17, where they’d take a shuttle to Kanara V.

Jim wasn’t sure he could handle the Prime Minister’s scent, not that he knew what they smelt like, but he also didn’t know what they _did_ smell like, so he asked Spock to go greet them first. It wasn’t proper protocol to send the first officer to meet a foreign dignitary, but Jim would rather offend the Prime Minister by not being the first to greet them rather than start a galactic war by running out of the room as soon as he smelt them.

Jim is still on the bridge when ten minutes later the doors slide open, and both Spock and the C’enovi Prime Minister step in. If Spock had brought the Prime Minister it must mean that their scent is bearable. He nods at his first officer as he approaches, and stands to greet their guest.

“Prime Minister. It is good to have you on the ship. I apologise I could not be the first to greet you when you beamed aboard, but I trust your journey to the Enterprise was good.”

The Prime Minister bows deeply. “Greetings, Captain Kirk. Worry not, for I was greeted most graciously by your First Officer.” At this they look to Spock and smirk, and okay, that’s a bit weird. “The trip itself was most pleasant.”

“That’s good to hear.” Says Jim, nodding. The hairs at the back of his neck rise, which is odd, because he’s pretty sure the temperature hasn’t dropped. “Feel free to explore the ship as you wish. The Enterprise has many amenities to offer if you’re interested, though I’d recommend you stay clear of the Engineering department. Our Head Engineer is currently engaged in some maintenance work and would prefer not to be disturbed. Should you feel fatigued or tired, we have a room already prepared for you.”

“You are most gracious, Captain.” Says the Prime Minister, placing their long, spider-like fingers on their collarbone. “I would indeed be open to a tour of the ship. If you do not mind, I would wish it for your First Officer to show me the ship, as I can see you are preoccupied.”

Something about that rubs Jim the wrong way, but he nods. 

“Mr. Spock is an excellent choice for a tour guide, Prime Minister. He’ll be able to tell you everything you’ll need to know about the Enterprise, and then some.”

“I’m sure I will be able to learn a lot from him.” And then they place their fingers on Spock’s shoulders, and _fuck no_ , that is so not on. A possessive feeling roars to life inside of him, clawing at his senses, telling him to tackle this _rival_ to the ground, hold him down and bare his teeth at him, and holy shit, did he just fucking _growl_ at the Prime Minister of C’enov? What kind of bullshit animalistic behaviour was that? He didn’t even realise his throat could make that sound. 

The bridge is eerily silent, everyone’s eyes keenly watching the scene in front of them. Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Jim awkwardly clears his throat. 

“Sorry.” He says, willing his embarrassment down at the shocked look in the Prime Minister’s eye. At least they let go of Spock’s shoulder. “He doesn’t like being touched. Vulcan custom.” 

The Prime Minister nods at Jim, and steps back. Jim tries to ignore the rush of approval that courses through him at that, too busy trying not to die of shame to analyse the feeling.

Spock turns to face him, and calmly says. “Thank you, Captain. However, I am more than capable of handling my own affairs.”

Man, Jim could really do with the floor opening up and swallowing him whole right about now.

“Certainly, Mr. Spock. My apologies.” Jim swallows and returns to his chair, nearly breaking a sweat in his attempt to keep his eyes on the screen ahead and not watching Spock and the Prime Minister walk out.

*

“You look like shit, kid. Has today been _ruff_?”

Jim narrows his eyes at his friend. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

“And you’re not as good-looking as you think you are.”

“Bones!”

“Have a seat, you infant.”

They’re in Bones’ office again, because even after two weeks Jim can’t stand the smell of disinfectant. It’s so bad that with Jim’s increased sense of smell he can sometimes taste it when he accidentally gets a whiff.

“What’s wrong with your sorry ass this time?” asks Bones, because he’s got such excellent bedside manners.

Jim flushes when he remembers what had occurred on the bridge earlier. He’d avoided both Spock and the Prime Minister since it happened, which was easy because they’d both retired to their respective quarters. Jim had thought of checking in on Spock and asking how the tour went, but he’s still embarrassed over his behaviour and decided to leave it for now.

“Well, uh… strange thing happened on the bridge, actually. Um, Spock had brought the C’enovi Prime Minister onto the bridge after I asked him to see whether his scent would be too strong for me or not, and we were talking, just about the ship, his travel, stuff like that. He then uh, at one point, placed his fingers on Spock’s shoulder, and I… I _growled_ at him.”

Bones is staring at him with a frown. “Why?”

“I don’t know, Bones, I was hoping you could tell me that.”

The doctor is quite for a moment, and then asks, “And how did you feel about that?”

Jim looks to his friend with a long-suffering look. “What kind of question is that?”

“Just answer the goddamn question, Jim.”

Jim sighs and leans back in his chair. He picks at the hem of his command shirt. “I didn’t like it. Obviously.”

Bones is still staring at him, not saying a word. Jim sighs.

“When he put his hand on Spock’s shoulder, I… there was this feeling inside of me that _screamed_ for me to throw it off. It was intensely strong, I didn’t even realise I had it in me. It was just the sight of him touching Spock, acting so fucking friendly with him that pissed me off. Before when we spoke he said something, actually complimented Spock, and I… I _didn’t like it_. I think now I must’ve subconsciously picked up on his flirting, but it didn’t hit me until he actually touched Spock. Actually put his hand there, on his shoulder, like he was fucking _allowed_.” And damn it, Jim had ended that with a growl too. What the fuck, why did this keep happening?

He knows Bones must be feeling just as exhausted as Jim is at this point, because he rubs at his temple.

“I’m not even going to try and look into the meaning of that.” He stands up and heads for the door, calling out, “Cover your nose!”

Jim grabs a hold of his nose, impatiently waiting as the doctor heads into Sickbay and then returns a few moments later with a hypo in his hand. Jim instinctively tenses.

“If you stab me with that I will tear this room apart.” he promises as Bones shuts the door. His threat mustn’t be intimidating enough because Bones just rolls his eyes.

“This is the sleeping sedative I gave you to help fall asleep at night.” He says, holding up the hypo. “It’s not as potent as the one you already have, and I’m going to start administering this one to you from now on.”

“And this’ll help me… stop reacting that way again?” Jim frowns at the hypo.

“It’ll help you adapt to the change in your sleeping pattern.”

“What change?”

“I’m weaning you off the sedative, Jim. You can’t rely on it forever to help get you to sleep. Every week from now on I’m going to lessen the amount I give you, and by the end of it you should be able to fall asleep naturally without the help of medical drugs.”

Jim should be happy with that. Bones was helping him acclimatise to his increased sense of hearing, trying to get him to adapt and not struggle with sleepless nights. But instead it reminds Jim of how the changes have affected him and made his life that much harder.

Something must show on his face, because next thing Jim knows Bones is squeezing his shoulder.

“Hey.” Jim looks up into the concerned face of his friend. “It’s going to be hard at first. It always is. But you’re going to be alright.”

Jim rubs at his face. “I don’t know if I can. I’ve been feeling so shit since this all started.”

“I know, Jim. If it’s any consolation, you’ve handled it a lot better than I would ever have.”

“It’s a little consolation.” And it really is, even if it is just words. Jim accepts the hypo, and Bones grins.

“Glad I could throw you a bone.”

“Well, you’re dead to me after that comment.”

*

They successfully drop off the C’enovi Prime Minister just two days after his arrival. Jim’s happier over the fact that they both managed to stay clear of each other for those two days than he is for completing the mission.

He _thinks_ Spock should be happy, or whatever’s the closest non-expressive version of happy, about that too, but there’s something off about his first officer. His usual scent isn’t there anymore. Or, well, _it is_ , but it’s soured. Jim doesn’t understand it, he’s only ever smelt Spock’s scent either heightened or weakened in its sweetness, never… this.

He’s not behaving any different from usual, bent over his control panel and doing his job. Which actually Jim should probably be doing too instead of staring at his first officer. Spock doesn’t look any different either, and Jim’s not adapted to his increased sense of hearing well enough to figure out if there’s anything wrong with Spock that way, though he’s not sure how he would’ve done that to be honest.

It’s just as Spock drops by his chair to hand him the finished report of the C’enovi Prime Minister’s escort that Jim asks, “Are you feeling okay, Spock?”

Spock doesn’t even answer his question, just says, “Why do you ask, Captain?”

“No reason. You just… seem different, is all.” Jim finishes lamely.

Spock returns to his station. After a few minutes of fidgeting uncomfortably and Spock’s scent having soured considerably, Jim gets up out of his chair and walks over to him. He clears his throat, but Spock keeps looking at his screen.

“You know, if you are feeling ill, you can tell me. I can call Bones up and he’ll take you in.” Jim hedges, dearly wishing for Spock to just look at him.

“I am not ill, Captain, nor do I doubt Doctor McCoy would turn away a patient in need.”

Jim nods. “Right. Well, just trying to help.”

“Understood, Captain.”

A long silence stretches between the two of them, the activities of the rest of the bridge crew still going on in the background. Jim doesn’t want to go back to his chair.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks.

“I am certain.”

“Just know you can talk to me if there’s anything wrong.” Jim pats Spock’s shoulder, then turns around to head off.

He’s halfway to his chair when Spock asks, “Captain, would you please desist your hounding?” 

Jim whips around so fast he’s surprised he doesn’t break his neck.

“Was that a fucking dog joke, Commander?” he snarls. Spock’s eyebrow rises, and what the fuck, his scent suddenly turns sweet again. Jim almost doesn’t notice the bridge having gone suddenly quiet, his mind too busy rejoicing in its return.

“Certainly not, Captain. I was merely asking why you insist on infringing on my personal matters.” Jim holds Spock’s gaze for a few tense seconds. He then returns to his job staring at the screen and pretending the others aren’t shooting each other worried looks.

This dog business was getting under his fur. Skin. God-fucking- _damn it_.

*

Jim knows he treated Spock unfairly on the bridge. He knows it was a shitty thing to do, he knows it was wrong. Not just his brain, but his body knew it too. When Spock had asked him to stop his _hounding_ — God, why did that word even exist— Jim could smell his scent souring, and it was such an odd thing to experience that his hackles had instinctively raised. Somewhere in the mix of noticing the change and Jim thinking Spock had insulted him he’d snapped, not realising why.

He’d become used to the puns, honestly. He laughed when the crew said them, even joined in at times. So why had he almost bitten Spock’s head off for doing the same? Or, not the same, actually. No, he hadn’t meant it as a joke at all, it was just an unfortunate choice of words. 

Thinking about it, Jim’s never seen Spock join in on the taunting the rest of his crew did. He’d remained strictly professional during his shifts, and off shifts he’d been actively trying to help Jim adjust to his changes. He really is grateful for that. Jim knows Spock makes jokes, or at least snarks, because he’s spent enough time around the Vulcan to come to realise that Spock is the type to make backhanded comments. It’s a real impressive skill set, and Spock’s damn skilled at it.

Maybe it’s because it was so out of character for Spock? Or the Spock that Jim knows, at least? He could behave differently around others. Maybe he and Uhura trade barbs all the time, having inside jokes and the lot. They are on first name basis after all. But that’s not fair, Jim and Spock are also on a first name basis (almost, because Jim still cannot to this day pronounce Spock’s first name without butchering it), Jim wants to have inside jokes with Spock too.

No, wait, hang on, he’s angry with Spock! No. He’s angry with himself. Why? Oh, because he thought Spock was angry with him. No, because he snapped at Spock, that’s it! That had totally been an uncool thing to do, getting short with your first officer. Spock’s probably super pissed. Pissier than he was when Jim asked if he was okay. Wait, why was he angry then?

Jim’s head hurts. He doesn’t know the reason or sense behind any of this, his head just hurts. He’s confused, and tired, and full of energy, and he’s almost running a hole in the floor from how hard he’s pacing. His back is prickling, his muscles tense. He feels the need to go for a run or a sparring session or something; he was going to tear up the fucking walls if he couldn’t do _something_.

Jim’s comm suddenly beeps, and he growls at it. Seriously, _what the fuck_. He has got to stop doing that.

Clearing his throat, Jim barks, “Enter!”

It’s Spock. Of course, it’s Spock. Probably here to yell at him some more. A rush of guilt comes over Jim, and he lowers his eyes to the ground.

“Captain.”

“What can I do for you, Mr. Spock?”

“I wish to inquire if you would be willing to partake in a game of chess?” Jim looks up briefly, and spots the chessboard in Spock’s hands.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” He murmurs.

“Captain, I believe my presence will offer you some relief.” Jim laughs, but it sounds empty. Spock goes on, regardless. “I have noticed in the past two weeks that whenever I am in your immediate surrounding, your productivity and ability to focus increases as opposed to other times where I am not present. I have been reliably informed by Lieutenant Uhura of this fact as she often takes to unburdening her complaints about your poor behaviour upon me.”

Jim needs to have a serious talk with his communications officer about bitching to your ex about your very respected starship captain. She’ll most definitely walk out of that talk the winner, but it’s the principle of actually holding a talk that matters to Jim.

“The observation is further corroborated by evidence such as the incident in the transporter room where you… sought out my scent glands,” God, Jim wants to be struck by an asteroid so bad right now. And not one of those small, itsy ones, _no_ ; he needs to be struck by a big, giant-ass asteroid. “and the fact that you continuously change the bridge’s rota so that our shifts align shows that you have a preference for me being in the room with you as opposed to not. There is also the fact that when off duty you spend the majority of your leisure time in your quarters, allowing only myself and Doctor McCoy access. I have therefore concluded that my scent is fundamental to your productivity. If I spend time in your presence, it will allow you to perform your duties as a starship Captain and aid in keeping you calm, similar to how Terran wolves remain calm when the scent of their mate is near.” Seriously, did he have to phrase it like that?

It takes Jim a moment to think about how to dissolve Spock’s observations, but his head’s still messed up from his own internal argument with himself before his first officer arrived. 

Fuck it. He’s had a hard day. Spock’s had an even worse day (probably). They could both do with a civil game of chess.

“Certainly, Mr. Spock.” Jim nods at his first officer, who walks over to the table and begins setting up the board. Jim holds back a sigh.

They both take their seats, Spock opting to start with black which leaves Jim with the white. Jim doesn’t even take a minute to contemplate his first move, but just drags a random pawn forward.  


The rest of the game follows very much in that fashion. Spock plays with his usual precise, calculative moves, and Jim… doesn’t. He doesn’t even play with his usual crazy strategies which leaves Spock frustrated at his captain’s irrationality. Jim’s off his game. He’s pretty sure Spock can tell, though he’s awfully quiet about it. Jim scratches his arm, grimacing at the board. He cannot for the life of him focus on the game before him, not even if you held a phaser to his head and demanded he play. There’s still a restlessness creeping all over his skin, but Jim doesn’t know how to get rid of it. He keeps scratching at his arm, and even starts tapping his foot.

“I researched the Old Earth species Siberian Husky to make comparisons between you and the creature.” Spock says suddenly. Jim looks to him, but his first officer’s gaze is locked on the chessboard. Jim drops his gaze too.

“That’s great. Bet you’re finding it hilarious I’m apparently sharing genes with a dog now.”

Spock moves his rook, taking Jim’s knight. Shit. “The only characteristic I saw you share was the shade of your eyes; ice blue, a trait common in Siberian Huskies.”

Jim grunts. He wants to make a comment about how blue eyes are actually a mutation from the original brown eyes that the majority of Earth’s population possess, but he’s not feeling getting into a scientific conversation right now. He’d rather just marvel at Spock’s brown eyes. He wonders if that was the norm on Vulcan as well. His only other points of reference for Vulcan eye colours were Sarek and Spock Prime, but considering they were related (or the same person), it didn’t really answer Jim’s little query.

“Was the information interesting?” he asks instead.

“It was a description of an animal and its behaviour. It was factual.”

Jim rolls his eyes, but smiles fondly. “Was the description interesting then?” he amends.

“Very. They were originally used as working dogs in the arctic tundra of Earth, withstanding temperatures as cold as -50 Celsius degrees. Perhaps you share those traits, Captain.”

“Perhaps.” Says Jim, knowing he’ll never try that shit out ever.

“The Siberian Huskies’ lineage was a most peculiar discovery. They were widely kept as domesticated pets, but their ancestry was closely related to Terran wolves.”

“Are you wondering why Humans would trust living with a dog with wolf ancestry?” Jim’s foot has stopped its tapping, but instead he’s taken up on jiggling his entire leg. He wonders if Spock’s annoyed by it.

“Indeed, Captain. Terran wolves are known for being aggressive when confronted with danger or threats to their packs, and so it would be illogical to keep such a troubling creature in one’s abode.”

Jim shrugs, moving a piece. “Not the first time Humans have made questionable decisions.”

“Quite right, Captain.” Spocks says, and moves a pawn. Jim curses under his breath. He is so not on it tonight.

“So you don’t think any Vulcans would’ve ever wanted a Siberian Husky if they were still around?”

“Today’s Vulcans, indeed.”

“But history’s Vulcans…?”

“I must admit that the Siberian Husky was vastly more civilised than the Vulcans from the ages pre-Surak.”

Jim whistles. “That’s weird.”

“How do you mean, Captain?”

“Just, it’s difficult for me to imagine Vulcans being anything but proper and all logical thinking.”

“Because it is what you have personally encountered.”

“Exactly. I’ve never met a Vulcan who was savage. If there ever was one I’m sure you guys would keep it extremely well hidden.”

An odd silence falls, but then Spock says, “I have always had some fascination with the ages pre-Surak.”

“Yeah?” Jim asks, moving a knight. He realises he’s made a mistake just as he’s let go of his piece. He frowns unhappily. “How come? I thought those savage days were a blotch of shame for Vulcans.”

“Though many Vulcans share your sentiment, it is an important part of our history and decision to strive for our current civilization. The Pre-Surak ages are the antithesis of today’s Vulcan culture, which is a rigorous commitment to logical thinking. The loss of emotional control in a Vulcan is an intriguing concept.”

“Careful there, Spock. You’re almost making it sound like you want to feel emotions.” Jim’s lips quirk up in a smile.

“You misunderstand, Captain. Showing interest in a matter does not constitute wishing for it to occur.”

A few moments of silence pass between the two as Spock finishes contemplating his next move, and then chooses his queen.

“So you guys traded in all of that emotional stuff for what you have now?” Jim asks, lazily surveying the board.

“Not entirely. There is a time when every Vulcan must experience emotional turmoil, though it is not spoken of.”

Jim perks up. “Is it illegal?”

“It is taboo.”

“Huh. So wait, do you guys get offended then if you see Humans or other species openly displaying emotions?”

“Not at all, Captain. Every species in the galaxy has its own form of modernisation. For Vulcans it was simply to restrain our emotions, and for Humans it was to advance in technology. For the Juvallians it was to rid themselves of clothing.“ Jim’s pretty sure Spock is smirking, but he can never be absolutely certain with Spock. “One is not worse than the other, it is simply different.”

“So you wouldn’t be offended if I threw you down on the floor right now?” Jim hadn’t meant anything by it, just an example of the most irrational thing he could do right now, but he smells a slight and sudden change in Spock’s scent. 

“I would advise you not to follow through with your statement, Captain. As Vulcans possess three times the strength of Humans I could easily remove you from my person.” Spock speaks in his same old calm tone, but Jim can smell something’s different. He narrows his eyes at Spock, but he’s busy looking at the chessboard.

“That’s true.” Jim moves a piece haphazardly. “But you know, with the way I’ve been feeling lately, I’m pretty sure I’d put up a fight. I feel like I’m not really me sometimes, like my animal urges come out when I least expect it.”

Another increase in scent. _Goddamn_ , Jim’s onto something here.

“That is peculiar, though not surprising. The pollen is incredibly potent.”

“Yeah,” Jim drawls, still keeping his gaze on his first officer. He sits forward a bit, leans his elbows on his knees. His leg has stopped jiggling. “Though it can lead to some pretty bad situations. Like me scenting your neck in the transporter room, or growling at the C’enovi Prime Minister because they touched you.”

“I assure you, Captain, I am fully capable of handling myself.” Spock still isn’t looking at Jim, and his voice is still fucking _cool and collected_.

“But you like it more when someone else handles you.” There’s another increase in Spock’ scent. Jim’s eyes narrow. “You do. You like it.”

Spock keeps his eyes resolutely on the board.

“You want to be manhandled, you want to be ravished.” 

“That is not entirely accurate.”

“It’s not entirely inaccurate either.”

They both remain silent, Spock keeping his gaze down and Jim staring at him.

“Spock.”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Your scent has changed.”

And there, just there, Jim catches a brief hesitance in Spock’s movements. Jim quirks a grin.

“Does the idea of my baser instincts taking over and holding you down arouse you, Mr. Spock?”

And holy shit, Spock’s cheeks turn fucking green. Green! Spock’s fucking blushing and Jim feels like he’s won the world.

He immediately leans closer, his voice dropping to a deep rumble.

“It fucking does, doesn’t it? You like being on the receiving end of someone who can’t control their emotions. It turns you on.” Jim’s so damn gleeful he’s honestly surprised he’s not bouncing off the walls.

Spock keeps staring at the chessboard, not giving Jim an ounce of attention. After about a minute of staring at Spock, Jim grabs hold of the chessboard and shoves it off the table, neither of them watching the pieces scatter across the floor. Spock is still keeping his gaze on the table, but hot damn, his scent has jumped drastically. Jim can feel his cock pressing against the seam of his trousers.

“Spock.” There’s no response. “Look at me.”

Slowly, Spock lifts his head and makes direct eye contact with Jim. They stare at each other for a few long seconds, tension thick in the room. 

Suddenly Jim launches himself at Spock. 

He pulls him up by the front of his shirt, crushing their mouths together, and Jim wastes no time in tasting those lips. He kisses Spock _hard_ , grasping a hold of his hips and pulling him against him. Spock’s all hard lines and hidden muscle, his hipbones sharp and mouth relentless. 

Jim can’t get enough of it. 

He runs his fingers up the small of Spock’s back, deepening the kiss as he goes. Spock moans, and Jim licks into his mouth. They grind against each other, evidence of their arousal very prominent. Jim’s hands travel further up and grip Spock’s hair, letting his fingers dig into that silky soft cut. Spock in return grapples to hold onto Jim’s shirt, pressing himself impossibly closer. 

Jim pulls back, takes one look at Spock and realises that hell yeah, seeing his hair all mussed up does things to him. Especially knowing that he’s the one that did that, along with putting that dumbstruck look on Spock’s face.

Jim dives back into the kiss, dropping his hands to Spock’s shoulders as he slowly begins to walk him back to the bed. He lets Spock fall back onto the mattress before draping himself over him. Spock leans up to meet him halfway, and this time they’re both trying their hardest to dominate the kiss. Jim’s hands just keep fucking wandering, always grabbing at something, never staying in one place for too long. He can’t help it, it’s Spock and he gets to _touch him everywhere_. Jim rolls his hips and Spock lets out a deep groan, pulling at Jim’s shirt. Jim buries his face in the crook of Spock’s neck and inhales his rich scent.

“You smell so good. You always smell so good, Spock, how do you do that?” Jim bites at Spock’s neck.

“Captain.” Spock gasps. Jim’s cock throbs. Oh, he knew he would love being called ‘captain’ in bed, he just didn’t know how big the effect would be when Spock was the one who said it. Fuck, Spock is _in his bed_. Jim still can't quite believe it.

“I smelt your scent on the bridge. Earlier. It was sour, why was that?” Jim pulls back, actually wanting an answer.

It takes Spock a moment to collect himself, his cheeks green with heat. Jim shivers. He did that to him. _He did_.

“Perhaps it was because at the time I was upset with you.” Spock swallows, “Your reaction towards the C'enovi Prime Minister touching me prohibited them from making any further advances, something I highly desired. I was recalling the memory when you approached me.”

Jim growls, and fucking hell, Spock’s scent jumps. Yeah, he definitely has a kink for this dominant animal thing. Jim grips Spock’s hips tightly and buries his nose in the crook of his neck. He inhales deeply and almost comes from the scent alone. It’s so fucking good. Jim moans and thrusts his hips, rubbing up against Spock’s own erection.

“They wouldn’t know how to take care of you.” He whispers.

“They had exceptionally long fingers.” Oh, the little shit was goading Jim on, and it was _totally working_.

Clothes are suddenly the worst invention Jim has ever experienced, and he needs to get them off immediately. 

He tears at Spock’s shirt, literally tears at it, and throws it somewhere behind him. He doesn’t give a fuck, he needs to make sure Spock becomes very naked, very fast. He pulls off the boots next, tossing them aside, and Spock has somehow managed to undo the buttons and zipper on his trousers, allowing Jim to quickly pull them off of him. Spock grapples at Jim's shirt, pulling at it, and Jim gets the idea. He pulls hist shirt off over his head, and his boots, trousers and underwear quickly follow suit. Spock reaches for his boxers, but Jim’s hands stop him. He makes eye contact with Spock, who stills. 

“May I?“ Jim asks. He’d like to do the honours himself. Spock blushes so prettily, his cheeks staining green, and nods once. Jim runs his hands down his stomach, letting his fingernails lightly drag across the skin and raise green lines in its wake. His fingers play with the hem of the black Starfleet issued boxers, pulling it down just a bit to reveal the top of Spock’s trail of hair. Jim leans down and buries his nose against it, breathing in the scent. It’s stronger here. The blood in his veins rush downwards.

Jim gently pulls back, noting how Spock’s breathing is coming out fast. He urges his hips up and pulls the boxers off, revealing his flushed, green cock. Jim moans.

Spock’s scent has intensified, and Jim knows exactly where it’s at its strongest now. Spock’s cock looks like any Human cock Jim has seen, except that it’s a glistening, dark green and there are no testicles. Instead there are folds at either side of his cock, and a hole where it looks to have emerged from. The folds and the base of his cock look to be incredibly wet, some sort of moisture pooling at the bottom.

Jim leans down and licks at one of the folds, and suddenly Spock’s thighs press together and tighten against his head. Jim’s so turned on right now, he so wants to continue tasting, but Spock is pushing his head away.

“Don’t.” He pants.

“Why not?”

“It is extremely sensitive.” He says, as if that’s incentive to deter Jim. Crazy.

Jim turns his head, gently nipping at Spock’s inner thigh. His muscles are evident there, and Jim grinds his teeth a little, making sure to leave a mark right there. He carefully caresses the folds of Spock’s cock, fingering the inside where it’s at its wettest. Spock whimpers.

“There’s so much.” Jim whispers in awe.

“It is how Vulcans have evolved.” Spock grits out, his thighs staying strong around Jim’s head. Jim so doesn’t give a fuck, if he weren’t worried that Spock might break his neck he’d take this opportunity to go down and lick at his folds until his mouth went numb. Spock’s thighs tighten. “Our mating period is aggressive. This is to not hurt the receiver.”

Jim hums. “I don’t mind if you want to fuck me—“

“No.” Spock spits out. Jim’s eyebrows rise. “I wish for you to be the instigator.”

“You mean you want me to top?” Jim asks, a smirk creeping onto his face.

“Yes.” Spock nods fervently. Jim has to laugh because even when in bed Spock speaks this way, and it’s kind of really endearing and also super hot. Jim’s a bit confused but very turned on. 

He pushes Spock’s thighs apart and crawls up. His body curls over Spock, and he relishes the way Spock's entire body shivers as Jim leans down and bites at his collarbone. He sucks a mark right below his collarbone, lapping at it briefly with his tongue before working his way down to his nipples. 

God, they’re a dark shade of green too, just like Spock’s cheeks, and Jim’s overcome by how strongly he feels about that. He licks at one of them, rolling the nub around in his mouth as Spock begins to thrash lightly. Jim drags his fingernails down Spock’s ribs, loving the throaty groan he emits. Jim switches to the other nipple, sucking on it lightly too, before he gently takes it between his teeth and pulls back. Spock’s hips thrust up, and Jim grinds down on him as he does so. He pulls at his nipple again, making sure his teeth graze a bit harder this time around, and is rewarded by Spock thrusting up even harder. 

Jim chuckles, and pulls away from the nipple. He runs his fingernails round to Spock’s front and drags them down his torso. Spock grabs at Jim, his grip punishing, but Jim takes his wrists and holds them at his sides. Spock is most definitely allowing him to do this, no way his crazy Vulcan strength couldn’t just throw Jim off, but he doesn’t fucking care. Jim places a kiss in the middle of Spock’s stomach, and works his way down, licking down to Spock’s bellybutton and nipping at his lower belly.

“Can I eat you out?” he asks, and fuck, it sounds like he’s swallowed gravel.

Spock blinks down at Jim, seemingly unfocused. “What does it mean?”

“Eat you out?” Spock nods. Jim smirks, then trails his finger down to Spock’s perineum and rubs between the cleft of his ass. “It means I want to lick you here.”

Spock moans, and Jim chuckles. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes.” Spock hisses.

Jim has no concerns over being rough with Spock any longer, especially now that he knows how much he fucking loves it. Jim shoves Spock over onto his stomach, drawing his hands down Spock’s lower back and palms his ass. It’s so fucking taut, Jim’s going to lose his goddamn mind. He pulls Spock's hips up and spreads his cheeks, then gently rubs his thumb over his hole. It twitches, and Jim smirks. So fucking responsive. Jim withdraws his thumb, and leans down. 

At the first swipe of tongue Spock grunts loudly, and the sound spurs Jim on like nothing else. He fucking goes to town on Spock, swiping his tongue all over his hole. He’s licking long, broad strokes interspersed with small, quick licks around the edges, and damn does Spock wriggle a lot. It invokes some sort of response in Jim, causing him to grab hold of Spock's hips and hold him down.

“Don’t move.” Jim growls. Spock shivers, and after a moment spreads his legs a little. Jim preens at the action, and once he’s certain there won’t be any more moving about, returns to eating him out. Jim can feel how each stroke of his tongue has Spock tensing and relaxing beneath the palms of his hands, and it feels fucking incredible. He presses his face closer to Spock’s hole, foregoing any more licks to just kissing it slowly, revelling in the moans his partner emits. Jim gives Spock’s hole one last kiss, then squeezes his ass _hard_ , causing Spock to propel forward.

Jim sits back on his haunches and takes in the sight of Spock panting heavily, still with his ass in the air. It’s a goddamn picture perfect view, Jim can’t help from leaning forward and biting a cheek. Spock gasps, and Jim digs his teeth in harder.

“ _Jim._ ” And goddamn, who knew Spock would sound so good moaning his name.

Jim chuckles, and lets his fingers trail over Spock’s cock. He draws them over the tip, down the shaft and rubs into the moisture at the base. Spock jerks, but Jim’s weight holds him in place. Oh my God, Spock’s practically dripping, his lubrication so much more than when Jim first touched him. There’s a part of his brain which howls with happiness over getting Spock this fucking wet.

“Jim, please.” Spock actually _whines_ , and oh Jim is weak, Jim is so fucking weak.

He rests his cheek against Spock’s ass, trying to collect himself and purrs, “It’s okay, baby, I’ll take care of you.” He can feel Spock tensing when Jim drags his fingers through his lubrication. “I’ll take care of you good.”

Jim brings his fingers back to Spock’s ass, and lets his index finger rub against his hole. It’s still wet from when he’d been rimming him. A growl rumbles deep in Jim’s chest. He carefully inserts his finger to the first knuckle, drawing it in and out a few times before pushing it the rest of the way in.

Spock is so fucking tight Jim thinks he’s going to lose his goddamn mind. He can’t wait to bury himself inside of him.

Suddenly Spock moans, “Jim, please, do not…”

“Don’t what, baby?” Jim asks, watching as he works a second finger into Spock. God, it’s such a beautiful sight, he fucking loves watching Spock’s hole take him in so easily.

Spock groans, so, so loud. “Do not—” he pants, “Do not think too much.”

It takes a minute for Jim to register Spock’s words. “What?”

“Do not think too much. I can hear your thoughts.”

And oh, how could Jim have forgotten. Spock’s a touch telepath. He’s been receiving everything Jim’s been feeling, all of his emotions, his _thoughts_.

Jim grins. He keeps working his fingers into Spock, in and out, in and out, loving how tight it feels. He needs to gather his wits before he’s able to procure up an image of him behind Spock, rubbing his cock between the clefts of his ass. Spock’s hole spasms around his fingers, and Jim can’t help the feeling of pride that comes over him. He imagines spreading Spock’s cheeks, lining his cock up with his hole, and watching as he slowly disappears into him. He imagines marvelling over how such a tiny hole could take something that much bigger, how he’ll stretch Spock, how hot he’ll be, how _tight_.

“Jim, Jim, please, please do not—” Spock’s babbling, his entire body trembling. Jim can see sweat beading down Spock’s back, and fuck, how can he have such a gorgeous back too. Jim stretches forward and kisses it, dragging his teeth down it and tasting Spock with his tongue. Spock groans, and the tightening around Jim’s fingers reminds him he’s nowhere near done. Jim withdraws his fingers, hushing Spock as he whines at the loss.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, sweetheart, I’m nowhere near done with you.“ He promises, dragging his fingers through Spock’s lubricant again. Once his fingers are sufficiently coated he brings them back to Spock’s hole, and gently inserts three of his fingers. Spock pushes back against them, allowing Jim to better stretch him with the twin movements from both him and Spock. Jim’s loving the feel of Spock around his fingers, and can’t wait, he can feel how close he is to replacing his fingers with his cock.

Jim crooks his fingers a bit, searching for something, and knows he’s found it when Spock jerks. Fucking score. Jim rubs at that spot a few more times, watching as Spock’s strong thighs tremble, his hole squeezing around his fingers so exquisitely. It’s so bad he actually has to grab a hold of his own cock to stop himself from coming.

Jim’s never had sex like this before in his life, and he’s not sure if it’s because of his baser senses rapid evolution or because it’s _Spock_. Wonderful Spock, who smells so goddamn sweet and looks at him with his deep brown eyes. Jim needs to be inside of him immediately.

Jim’s clean, he’s pretty sure Spock’s clean too, but it’s always best to be safe. He pulls out his fingers and reaches over to the nightstand to see if he’s got any condoms at hand.

“No condom.”

Jim freezes. “What?”

“Do not use a condom. I do not require it.”

“Spock, are you—”

“I have not contracted any STDs since my latest medical check-up, nor have you.”

That’s a pretty damning argument.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” Jim gets up on his knees and grabs a hold of Spock’s hips, lining himself up with his hole. He presses the tip of his cock against his entrance, gently rubbing at it. Spock whines _again_.

“Jim, _please_ , do not tease.” Jim chuckles, and rocks forward. The head slips in, and fucking hell it already feels so much better than it did compared to his fingers. He continues to enter slowly, watching his cock disappear inch by inch into Spock’s willing body, his hole stretching to accommodate Jim’s girth. It’s all so fucking hot.

“You’re taking me so well, sweetheart, look at you.” He whispers, his voice coming out in a raspy growl. “Your hole’s so greedy, pulling me in. God, you really want it, don’t you? Want to feel the stretch and burn, want to be fucked raw. Don’t worry,” he kisses Spock’s shoulder blade. “You’ll get what you deserve.”

Spock’s damn near shivering out of his skin at this point. When he finally, finally bottoms out, Jim needs to hold still for just a moment because the sensations are so intense. They’re so fucking intense, and he didn’t think it’d feel this fucking fantastic, didn’t think burying his dick deep into Spock would feel _this fucking good_. Shit, Spock’s so hot, like a goddamn furnace. 

Jim pushes forward, draping himself across Spock’s back. Spock moans, his head hanging, and Jim bites at the junction between his neck and shoulder, laving it with his tongue. He begins to gently thrust forward, pulling out only a little bit before pushing back in. He stretches his head forward, taking Spock’s pointed ear into his mouth, and fucking hell does that have some effect on Spock. 

Jim increases his pace, pulling further out this time, and slamming back in. He keeps going, fucking into Spock at a punishing pace. It’s incredible, it’s so fucking incredible, so insane, and Jim just can’t help himself from tasting. He licks at Spock’s skin, teasing the flesh with his teeth, only just holding himself back from leaving indents. Spock grips the sheets tightly, his knuckles white from how hard they’re fisted. He keeps emitting little ‘ah ah ah’s every time Jim thrusts into him, and it’s driving Jim insane. 

He lets go of Spock’s hips, grabbing a hold of Spock’s hands instead and places them on the headboard. Spock has to stretch his back to be able to reach, which pushes his head into the mattress, and tilts his ass further up. Jim loses his fucking mind, fucking in earnest into Spock, trying to push deeper inside the scorching heat. He increases his pace, changing his angle a bit and thrusts deeper into Spock.

And that’s it. Spock clenches down on Jim so hard he comes.

Jim’s orgasm hits him so hard he’s sure he blacked out for just a few seconds, shuddering through the entire thing. He empties himself inside of Spock, and fuck if that didn’t feel like the greatest euphoria in the entire galaxy. Spock follows closely after, his body tensing around Jim’s still sensitive cock, and then he falls over the edge, coming too. 

They both lie in bed, sticky from sweat and panting, Jim atop of Spock. Their breathing is harsh, and it takes them a couple of moments to collect themselves. Jim lifts his head and buries his nose in the back of Spock’s neck, breathing in. He still smells like a goddamn treat. Spock sighs, letting his limbs fall a bit further from his body.

Jim kisses the back of Spock’s neck, then nips at it. Spock lets out a soft groan, and Jim can’t stop himself from smiling.

“Good?” he asks.

“Extremely.” Spock concedes, and holy shit does he sound fucked out, his voice deep and raspy. Jim inwardly preens. “But perhaps it would be best for us to clean up. I myself could do with a thorough rinse.”

Jim grins into Spock’s skin, thinking back to literally two minutes ago where he came inside of Spock. That was so fucking awesome.

“Jim.” Spock sounds kind of persistent.

“You sure?” he asks, rubbing his nose against Spock’s ear. The body beneath him shivers.

“If I do not rinse, I will be extremely uncomfortable during my next shift.” Jim can just imagine it, and fuck, there’s something he didn’t know he wanted so bad. 

Spock begins to move, and Jim is forced to sit up. He lifts himself on his elbows, and carefully pulls out. Before Spock can sit up any further, Jim spreads Spock’s cheeks and feels his cock jump at the sight of his red-rimmed hole. Jim leans down and gives it a hard kiss, relishing the way Spock gasps and jerks.

“Gorgeous.” He says as he pulls off. Spock doesn’t look at him or say anything, but from the green shade blotching his skin Jim knows he liked it. He’s about to sit back on his haunches, but as soon as Spock’s taken two steps from the bed, he immediately lunges forward and pulls him back. Jim’s holding Spock tightly to his chest, looking just as shocked as Spock probably feels.

”I, uh… I seem to be uncomfortable with letting you leave just yet.“ He ventures, because yeah, that seems to be what his body is telling him. Don’t let Spock leave the bed, it’s dangerous. Fucking weird.

“This is very unprofessional conduct, Captain.” Spock comments, and Jim bites his ear.

“Smartass. Was anything we did just now professional?”

Spock, the asshole, actually looks like he’s considering the question. “Perhaps not.”

“’Perhaps not.’” Jim mocks, kissing Spock’s neck. “I don’t sleep with just anyone on my ship, you know.”

“I would hope not.” 

Jim smiles fondly. “I can’t have this being a one-time thing.” He says softly. “I’m sorry, I just can’t. If you’re not comfortable with that, you’re going to have to leave the bed as soon as—”

“Captain, if I may speak freely?” Spock interrupts.

“We’re not on the bridge, Spock, you don’t have to keep calling me Captain.”

“I will cease to do so when you stop reacting favourably to it.” 

Jim can’t hold back his grin. There’s just something about Spock calling him ‘captain’ that does things to him. Next time they’d definitely have to try that in bed. “What did you want to say?” 

Spock seems to collect himself. “As you know, Vulcans are bonded at a very young age.” 

Jim nods. He remembers the thing with T’Pring. That time where Spock almost died but not really, and instead Jim died but not really, and McCoy saw hard, concrete facts that Vulcans had emotions, corroborated by the act on Vulcan and Spock’s honest to God smile of a thousand suns when he saw Jim well and alive onboard the ship again, and that’s when Spock died from humiliation, but not really. There was a lot of near deaths that day.

“The Vulcan ideal is to maintain a relationship that lasts until death. Though there are certain exceptions to this, such as myself, by nature Vulcans are entirely monogamous and mate for life.”

“You never fully bonded, though.”

“An accurate observation. However, I was still deemed inferior by T’Pring to take on the role as her spouse.”

“Her loss.” And it really was. She’d thrown away something great, which was right of her to do, because she didn’t fucking deserve anyone as great as Spock. “So, what you’re essentially saying is that you like me and want to be in an exclusive relationship with me? Exclusive relationship means that we don’t date anyone else, we’re just set on each other.” he explains hastily before Spock could ask what the difference was between other forms of relationships.

“Yes.” He says, seriously. 

Jim beams. All of his senses are content, he’s never felt better than he has at this very moment. His restlessness and aggressiveness from before have all died down, and he’s finding that there’s nowhere he’d rather be than right here, cuddling up next to Spock. He should probably find it odd, he’d never really thought of Spock in a sexual sense with himself thrown in the mix, but now that it’s happened Jim knows that nothing short of a crowbar is going to pry him off of Spock.

“Awesome.” He grins, and leans down to kiss Spock. It’s meant to be a chaste kiss, but Jim can’t have just one, and so one kiss turns into many more, which turns into them lazily making out.

“Jim.” Jim shivers. God, he really had no idea Spock saying his name would bring out such a reaction in him.

“Yeah?” he growls. Now that he knows the effect it has on Spock he’s going to use it to his every advantage.

“We have yet to clean ourselves.”

Jim grins. “Later.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks and shoutout to ChikaMikk who took the time to Skype with me for two hours about my rough drafts and helped me finish this fic. You're the real MVP!

“Can you smell this?” Bones asks, holding up an open bottle of bourbon. Jim frowns and shakes his head.

He can’t smell anything.

It was super fucking weird. Just moments after Spock had left his quarters to get prepared in time for his shift, Jim had run to tell Bones about what had happened. He was excited, he’d gotten laid, he’d probably started dating his first officer, this was important information and he wanted to tell his best friend about it.

Jim had skidded into Sickbay and immediately knocked into Nurse Chapel. Thankfully she only had a PADD in her hands which Jim managed to catch before it hit the floor, but their twin grunts when they ran into each other had attracted the attention of Bones.

“What’s the matter now?” He grumbled from the doorway of his office, permanent scowl in place.

“Bones! Do I have news for you!” Jim exclaimed cheerily, rubbing his hands together. Suddenly Bones’ eyes widened, and he stepped into the Sickbay.

“Are you… are you alright?” He asked cautiously.

Jim frowned. “I’m just fine, why?”

Bones slowly brought his hand up and pointed at Jim’s nose. It took Jim about five seconds before it hit him.

His sense of smell.

He immediately grabbed for his nose, covering it with both hands.

Bones frowned. “So it’s still there?”

“It…” Actually, now that Jim thought about it, he’d not smelt anything since he entered Sickbay. Carefully he removed his hands, and sniffed.

Nothing. He could smell nothing.

“Holy shit.” Jim whispered, staring at Bones. The doctor seemed to have a similar look of shock on his face.

“My office, now.” He demanded, turning on his heel. Jim obediently followed, still shocked at this new revelation.

What followed was about fifteen minutes of Bones holding things up a few feet from Jim and intensively questioning him about whether he could smell it or not. With every single question Jim had answered with a ‘no’, and with every single question he grew more and more curious.

Bones flips open the cap of a bottle of disinfectant and holds it under Jim’s nose.

“How about this?”

“Bones, what the fuck!” Jim shouts, pushing the bottle away. “Of course I can smell it, you pushed it right under my nose, asshole.”

“But did it make you want to pass out?”

“Yeah. Not as intensely as before, but yeah.” Jim sniffs. God, that thing still reeks.

“Would you say your sense of smell has lessened slightly, or changed entirely to how it was before the pollen?”

Jim took a moment to think up his answer. “It’s like normal. How I’ve always smelt things. And heard things too. Do you think my sense of taste has returned to normal as well?” Jim asks excitedly, imagining the lasagnes and pastas he’ll get to devour now. No more Vulcan meals for him, thank the stars.

Bones closes the cap of the bottle and places it on his desk. “Have you done anything different recently?”

Jim perks up. “Other than fuck Spock, you mean?”

“Oh, God no.” Bones whines, covering his ears with his hands. Jim immediately pulls them away, as excited as a puppy.

“It was amazing, man, I have to tell you about it!”

“No, you really don’t.” The doctor grumbles, struggling to get his hands over his ears again. Luckily Jim hits the gym way more often than Bones does, and is able to keep his hands at bay. A sudden thought occurs to him.

“Bones.”

“ _No._ ” He was still trying to get out of Jim’s grip, but Jim wasn’t having it.

“No, Bones, seriously. Other than sleeping with Spock, nothing different has happened.” He says slowly, ignoring Bones’ pained wail. ”And it was really weird. Not like ‘weird’ weird, but just… really intense. I felt I wasn’t really in control, but my baser instincts were running the whole show. Mostly, anyway.”

Bones ceases his struggling. He still looks pained, but has a contemplative look on his face. “Jim, are you wearing ear plugs?”

Jim shakes his head.

“And you hear everything at a regular volume? Not too loud?”

“Yeah, it’s just fine.”

Bones peers at Jim, then goes over to his desk. He takes out something in a wrapper and hands it to Jim.

“Here, have a bite of this.”

“What is it?” Jim asks, cautiously accepting the wrapper.

“Chocolate.”

“Oh!” Immediately breaking off a piece, Jim pops it into his mouth. Man, it tastes delicious. It was difficult for him to keep anything sweet for long since he usually just ate it within the day, so he’d taken to not keeping anything in his room. Wouldn’t do for him to gorge on unhealthy food. But man, was it good.

“How does it taste?”

“Like chocolate.”

“Is it overbearing; too much, too little?” Bones presses, clearly not amused with Jim’s comment.

Jim shakes his head. “It tastes great. Just great.”

Bones takes the chocolate back from Jim, ignoring his forlorn look as it’s taken away, and places it back in his desk drawer. 

“I have a theory about your changes.” He says. Jim nods, encouraging Bones to go on. “I think that when you… _slept _with Spock, your baser instincts got let loose for once instead of being restrained. You’ve been struggling to keep your altered senses under control, what with the ear plugs and seclusion in your room, and I think that giving them all free reign during… the act… may have caused some sort of sensory overload.”__

__Jim straightens in understanding. “Do you mean that the sensory overload caused my senses to return to normal?”_ _

__“That’s what it’s looking to be like. I’m not sure if I can prove it, but I can run some tests and see if I can find a connection.”_ _

__Jim nods absently, his mind occupied with the fact that he is finally back to normal. _Normal_. He could kiss Bones!_ _

__Suddenly he grins. “Sex with Spock cured me of my illness.”_ _

__“Jim, can you not.” The doctor sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose._ _

__Laughing, Jim knocks his fist against Bones’ shoulder. “Come on, Bones! Aren’t you happy for me? I am now officially free of this sensory hell!”_ _

__The doctor pushes Jim an arm’s length away. “Every dog has its day.”_ _

__*_ _

__So Jim’s base senses have returned to normal, and he’s really learning to appreciate how little everything smelt, sounded, and tasted. He’s never been so happy to gorge on pasta, even if it did end up giving him a stomach ache and Sulu laughed at him for being an idiot._ _

__He makes a big show of throwing away his ear plugs, having Spock and Bones present as witnesses when he opens the bin and throws them out. Neither of them are impressed, but it means a lot for Jim that they’d both shown up for the ceremony._ _

__Jim has taken to wandering the botanical gardens in the ship more often, enjoying the subtle smells of the flowers, though he made sure to only keep to plants and flora he’d heard of before and knew were harmless. He didn’t want to fall back into another scent-filled hellhole just as he’d crawled out of this one._ _

__Bones still pulls some dog jokes every now and again, and Sulu and Chekov have put together an album of that time along with elaborate explanations of their pranks. The album is called ‘Bow Wow’, which just shows that eventually people will run out of dog jokes. It’s situated in the ship’s library for anyone to peruse, and Scotty even built it a special stand with a glass case. ‘To preserve it, Cap’n’, he explained, and Jim just nodded and questioned his crew’s ability to prioritise things._ _

__Now, the thing with Spock. It had definitely happened, and Jim remembered the sex being amazing and thinking Spock was someone he could not live without. That had been what his baser senses had told him at the time, but now that they’ve disappeared, his more rational half isn’t as sold on that._ _

__Don’t get him wrong, he still very much wants to be with Spock. He thinks that on some level he always liked Spock, less so in a friend way, and more so in an ‘I’m attracted to you’ way. It would explain why he always held a certain amount of fondness for the guy, and why he enjoyed ribbing him about Human customs that to this day still confused the Vulcan. He’d always thought they were just observations he’d made note of, and maybe because he had always seen Spock as being more asexual than anything else his mind told him not to even try getting with that. It didn’t make sense to pursue someone if your needs wouldn’t match, especially if you were like Jim and couldn’t give up sex._ _

__Jim guesses they’ll just have to figure out what’s going on between them as they go along. Spock still seems very much keen on the idea of them having sex together, if the way he still hangs around and, you know, has sex with Jim is any indication. Jim’s not even going to complain, because he’s sure if Spock wasn’t seeking him out, Jim would be the one trailing after the Vulcan._ _

__One thing Jim immediately takes care after he’s back to normal is the Juvallian flower, which coincidentally happens to be the cause of his first full on fight with Spock as something-more-than-friends. His first officer wants to take the plant aboard the Enterprise and analyse it, because of course he’s fascinated with the fucking plant and its effects which totally didn’t cause Jim any trouble for the past two weeks. Jim is obviously very much against it._ _

__They end up reaching a compromise: Jim’s conditions for keeping the plant on the ship is that it needs to be quarantined so no one can accidentally be sprayed by it, and whoever is handling it needs to go in wearing a protective suit. Spock agrees to the terms, and Jim shoots of a quick message asking Scotty if he can get on the task of creating the suit. He gets ten heart emojis as a reply._ _

__Jim also makes sure to beam down to Juval together with Uhura and a stack of medical transcripts provided by Bones, and sit down with several Juvallian Elders to discuss Jim’s experiences with the Farkhoundeh flower._ _

__They’re in the same place they had their talk in previously, which has Jim thinking that it must be the location for their important meetings. Looking around it, he thinks it’s quite modest._ _

__“Salutations!” One of the Juvallians say. “Eredi I am. What you are?”_ _

__This time, Jim’s not caught off by their speech. “Greetings, Eredi. My name is Captain James T. Kirk of the starship _Enterprise_ , and this is my trusted Communications Officer, Uhura.” _ _

__Uhura immediately translates, all three Juvallians watching her with rapt attention. Once she’s done they look to Jim again._ _

__“What problem brings you?” Asks one of the others, and Jim doesn’t know if it’s rude to ask for their name now that they’ve apparently moved past introductions._ _

__“No problem,” He reassures them. “I’m actually here in regards to helping you with something. Possibly; I’m not sure how useful it will be to you or how much of it you’re already aware of.”_ _

__Jim places the stack of papers in front of the Juvallians. He’d specifically requested paper copies from Bones because as far as they’d been able to see, the Juvallians had not developed their culture to focus too much on technological advances._ _

__“These medical transcripts which the ship’s doctor provided shows every medical check-up I’ve endured since I was first blessed by the flower.” Jim tells Uhura, who then immediately translates it to the Juvallians. He’s not sure, but he thinks she’s already picked up on the language quite a bit. She really is something else._ _

__The Juvallians have chosen to speak only in their native tongue this time around, probably because it saves time and they’re able to convey their meaning more clearly like this._ _

__“They thank you for the information provided, and will look into them.” Uhura tells him._ _

__“Great. I’ve also documented my own personal experiences during the change, such as what dates they changed, how they affected me, and how I tried to handle it.” Jim takes out a small book from his satchel, waiting until Uhura has finished translating before he holds it out to them. They graciously accept it, and Jim is proud of how well this session is going. He really has missed being in his element during diplomatic talks, especially during ones like this where there is some seriously interesting cultural facts to be learned._ _

__“Tell them it also details what Bones thinks is the reason for the change being over with, and that it might be useful to them if they choose to make use of the flower sometime again in the future. We’re not entirely sure if this was the cause, but they could look into it themselves and see if it’s applicable to their race.”_ _

__“Of course, Captain.” Says Uhura, before turning to the Juvallians and repeating what Jim had just said. Jim just sits back and smiles. Yeah, he’s missed this._ _

__*_ _

__The Juvallians and the Federation end up hashing out a great contract, and start off their relationship on a good foot. It’s apparently mainly due to Jim, since the Juvallians were pleased with how well he handled his foreign situation with the Farkhoundeh flower. They even sent him an apology note detailing how he ‘showcased the very essence of diplomacy’, along with a small bag of one green seed and an explanation on what it is and how to take care of it. Every few months the Juvallians send him a new seed with an explanation of what it does and how it needs to be handled, which Jim has Uhura read through first so nothing gets lost in translation, then hands over to Spock to fawn over._ _

__It’s at times like this Jim misses being able to smell Spock’s excitement (Come on, it was hilarious how the guy got so worked up over plants!). But now Jim has spent enough time around Spock and can discern his different ‘non-expressions’, like how his eyes turn a deeper shade of brown whenever he tells Jim about a particularly fascinating journal article he read, or how he stands impossibly still whene there’s nothing much to do on the bridge, indicating his boredom. It’s nice being able to know these things, and even nicer knowing he’s one of the few who can discern these expressions._ _

__*_ _

__So other than the fight that they had about the Juvallian flower, and Jim’s sure there’ll be more to come in the future, he and Spock need to work out how to do this thing between the two of them. Jim’s not entirely sure what this ‘thing’ is, but he’d like to classify it as dating. At least then he’d have a starting point and know where to go from there._ _

__They’re just over a week into their ‘thing’ when Jim starts to read up on Vulcan customs, more specifically courtship rituals, something he never thought he’d find relevant to be completely honest. He even talks to Uhura about it, and after she threatens to slowly break every bone in his body if he hurts Spock (sign Jim down as terrified and impressed), she gladly helps explain some of the finer details that the texts Jim found failed to mention. It’s some strange bonding time between the two of them, but Jim feels he’s well on his way to being able to refer to Uhura by her given name._ _

__He found that even with all the information provided about Vulcans, there’s one thing the texts on Vulcan courtship can’t help Jim with, and that’s sex. Specifically, sex with Spock. Who turns out be one kinky fucker, pun intended._ _

__So Jim knew Spock was dirty from the first time they slept together, what with the whole wanting to be dominated thing, but he wasn’t aware of the extent his first officer enjoyed it. Several times already he’s asked for Jim to dominate him again, usually in the form of some sort of role-play (Jim’s twist on the sex), and shit, yeah, that’s something Jim is totally okay with. More than okay, if his dick has anything to say about it. He also got to learn about this Pon Farr thing, which okay, he understands Spock’s turn on to being dominated, because that’s sexy as hell. He’s not sure how he’ll prepare for the actual thing when it arrives, since it apparently lasts for seven days, but he’s excited._ _

__Spock is open to anything Jim suggests and, ever the scientist, is willing to try everything at least twice._ _

__“You’ve got to tell me if it hurts, okay?” Jim asks as he finishes tying Spock’s wrists to the headboard._ _

__“You will not injure me.” Spock replies, not answering the question. Jim sits back on his haunches._ _

__“What’s the safe word?”_ _

__“Tribble.” Jim shivers. That was an excellent suggestion by Spock the first time they’d discussed safe words. There was nothing that could kill Jim’s sex drive faster than the thought of those furry little devil spawns._ _

__“Good. Now remember, you’ve got to use it if we do anything you’re not comfortable with, no matter how into it I may seem.”_ _

__Jim gets off the bed and takes in the sight of Spock spread across the bed, arms over his head and naked as the day he was born. Gorgeous. He runs his fingers lightly over Spock’s thigh, feeling the muscles quiver beneath his touch._ _

__“My, my…” Jim drawls, his lips pulling into a grin. “How lucky I should be to have one of the Federation’s greatest spies in my bed.” Spock doesn’t move, his eyes following Jim’s movements as he trails his hand further up Spock’s thighs, bypassing his cock and caressing the crisp hairs on his lower belly. “I only wish we’d met under better circumstances.”_ _

__“As do I. You are not entirely unpleasing to the eye.” Spock replies stiltedly, and Jim has to hold back a laugh. Spock is never very confident when it comes to roleplaying, and sometimes they end up finishing it early because Jim just finds it so cute how flustered the guy gets._ _

__“You are too kind with your compliments.” Drawls Jim, raking his nails over Spock’s navel. “It’s a shame I’m going to have to punish you.”_ _

__“I would advise against it.”_ _

__“How so?” He runs his hand over Spock’s chest, deliberately ignoring the nipples._ _

__“I have done nothing that would garner punishment.”_ _

__Suddenly, Jim slaps Spock’s chest. The Vulcan tenses._ _

__Jim tuts. “You know that’s not true, Mr. Spock. You see, my boss, he thinks that you’ve done something bad. Something very terrible indeed. In fact, I’d agree with him that stealing his very hard-earned—“_ _

__“Stolen.” Spock interrupts._ _

__“—datachip is a very bad thing to do.”_ _

__“That is a matter of perspective.”_ _

__“True. But I’m hired by someone who doesn’t like your perspective on things, and especially what you do. He has given me certain orders, and I will fulfil them. You _will_ be punished, Mr. Spock.”_ _

__Silence falls over them, Spock not breaking eye contact with Jim for several moments._ _

__Finally he asks, “What do you plan to do?”_ _

__Jim throws his leg over Spock’s waist, and straddles him. He plants his hands on either side of Spock’s head and leans close to his face, dropping his voice to a whisper. “What I plan to do, Mr. Spock, is to kiss my way down your body, slide onto your dick, and ride you until you’re hoarse from screaming for more.”_ _

__There’s a perceptible change in Spock’s breathing. “That is an acceptable punishment.” He says, voice deep._ _

__Jim kisses him, _hard_._ _

__Yeah, so he has a fancy for dirty talk, but Spock’s not very good at it, so Jim takes over the role for the both of them. They try out some more sexual activities, taking turns to suggest them, which after a few weeks are sometimes exchanged for nights in watching a movie or documentary. Spock has taken quite the liking to an old Earth series narrated by Sir David Attenborough, and Jim loves Sir Attenborough enough to launch into a long explanation about him and his earnings._ _

__“I have surmised you know too much about this David Attenborough.” Spock tells Jim one night after an exceptionally long rant._ _

__“ _Sir_ David Attenborough.” Jim corrects, throwing a fistful of popcorn into his mouth. Since Spock doesn’t eat with his hands he’d chosen to forego the popcorn, but Jim believes it’s the must-have movie snack and so he’d replicated a bag for himself._ _

__“My apologies.“ Says Spock, sounding anything but._ _

__The documentary winds to an end, and Jim replaces it with a pre-picked movie, some Andorian thing about bounty hunters. They’d chosen it because Jim had already seen it and knew it was good, and because Spock’s fluent so he has no problem understanding the movie. Despite having seen it before, Jim’s Andorian isn’t the best, so they turn on Standard subtitles for him._ _

__Twenty minutes in one of the main characters on screen fires a phaser at a wall, and it melts. Jim sneaks a look at Spock, already expecting some sort of retort about logic._ _

__“That is illogical.” And there it is. Jim smiles as he grabs another fistful of popcorn._ _

__“It’s a movie, Spock. They’re meant to show the impossible.”_ _

__“Will the movie end with the impossible happening?”_ _

__“Possibly.” Jim grins. “I actually think they ended it with the typical American dream.”_ _

__Spock turns to Jim. “What do you mean?”_ _

__“You know, the typical American dream.” Jim says, licking the salt off his fingers. Spock’s eyes zoom in on the action. “It’s this old idea from the 1950s, on Old Earth, and it was that everyone wished for the same thing: a big house, white picket fence, a partner with 2.5 children, and a dog. That’s the American dream.”_ _

__Spock is quiet for a moment. There’s shouting on the screen followed by angry Andorian whispering. “Is that what you wish for, Jim?”_ _

__Jim looks to Spock, his interest in the movie having suddenly disappeared. He can’t really gauge Spock’s expression, which means this must be new territory for him. Jim contemplates his answer, thinking if he really does want that._ _

__He shrugs. “I think the American dream is impossible to achieve nowadays.”_ _

__There is a moment of silence before Spock says, “That is true.”_ _

__Jim picks at his popcorn, not eating any. “No, I don’t think it’s for me. What I want is…” he pauses, then continues, “What I want is a home, with good, sturdy shelves to keep my books on. I’d like to live in the city, surrounded by life. I want a partner to come home to…” he trails off, shrugging. “Maybe a cat.”_ _

__The sounds of the movie seem impossibly loud in the silence that follows. Jim’s too scared to look at Spock for fear of what he’ll see on his face._ _

__“What do you want?” he asks in a small voice._ _

__There’s a few seconds before Spock’s deep voice replies, “I believe our wishes coincide.”_ _

__Jim’s heart jumps in his chest. He lets his eyes fall shut and smiles shyly. “That’s good to know, Spock.”_ _

__They sit together, not paying attention to the movie, nor looking at each other. They simply enjoy each other’s presence, sinking into the comfortable feeling that comes with such a revelation. The revelation that the person you’re heads over heels crazy over is just as crazy over you, and that you’re both in it for the long haul. And because Jim is who he is, he can’t help but ruin such a sweet moment._ _

__“So I was thinking we could name the cat ‘Chairman Meow’.” He tells Spock, finally looking at him._ _

__Spock doesn’t even blink an eye before saying, “I would advise against naming our future pet after a Chinese communist revolutionary.”_ _

__Jim pouts. “You’re no fun.”_ _

__It’s just as he’s crawling into bed with Spock and preparing to cuddle up against him that Jim realises that getting a pet together is something serious couples do. This means Jim doesn’t have to feel guilty for looking into the benefits of opening a joint checking account or moving nearly all of his belongings into Spock’s room. He’s just being prepared for what the future brings, and also very excited about all the stuff they get to do together._ _

__It’s insane how easily Jim can imagine his and Spock’s future together, and he’s pretty sure Spock’s done the same because the guy always thinks like ten steps ahead of everyone else. Jim’s kind of looking forward to the arguments they’ll have over things like the colour of the tapestry in their living room, or if they should tile the bathroom or not, or, God help him, what kind of plates they should get for their kitchen (fancy china and regular)._ _

__Jim falls asleep that night with a smile on his lips._ _

__*_ _

__It’s another shift of starmapping, and the Enterprise is slowly moseying along space as the crew work. It’s boring work, but they need to update the starmaps in this area, and since their ship is already here Starfleet had sent them the orders._ _

__The bridge is quiet, the only audible noise being that of the machinery. Even Uhura’s bored where she’s sat fiddling with her headset. Chekov and Sulu are doing most of the work, along with Spock who occasionally will walk over to them and discuss something. Jim can feel a yawn coming on, and covers his mouth with his hand. There really hasn’t been much for him to do other than supervise and be a captain, which has left him a lot of time for thinking._ _

__He loves being with Spock, and he loves the Enterprise to bits, he really does, but he can’t help but wishing to return home sometimes. He’s happy, he and Spock are going to be together for a long time, and he wants to get started on their time together away from work. The whole captain and first officer getting together act is pretty sexy, but he wants to try out their compatibility outside of that. Outside of work, in civilian spaces, like at a restaurant, or a cinema, or even fucking mini golf._ _

__Also considering they’ve basically already moved in together, there wouldn’t be a need to find separate places to live. Spock will probably want his own garden, so they’d either have to find someplace with a backyard or look into buying many plant pots. Someplace with a backyard would be preferable though so that Chairman Meow could be let out to roam and play, and maybe Jim could hold barbecues there for whenever they host get-togethers with the crew. Because that is happening, no matter if they all part ways after the five-year mission is over; he will start a group chat and keep in contact with everyone._ _

__He’ll also probably be introduced to a lot more vegetarian meals, and Vulcan meals too, because Spock doesn’t eat meat or anything strongly flavoured, and it’d take too much time to make two separate sets of meals. That’s fine, Bones is always telling Jim he needs to eat healthier anyway. He wonders if Bones and Spock will end up bonding in the future over Jim’s antics ( _yes_ , he is self-aware, thank you). That’s a weird thought, but one that has him grinning like crazy._ _

__“Are you alright, Captain?” Jim breaks out of his thoughts. Spock’s looking at him curiously from where he’s stood next to his chair, a PADD in hand._ _

__Jim keeps grinning. “I’m just fine, Mr. Spock.”_ _

__All in all, Jim’s life is pretty good._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally finished it! :D I hope enjoy this fic coming to an end, and I want to thank everyone who has been following it from the start. You're all champions <3


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